Brits in Bosnia - toddlers, dog and all

The final post. Well almost.

2010-04-29T22:09:00.000+02:00

This blog has always been about our time in Bosnia. What it was like to be living in Bosnia, the things that I liked, the things that I find odd, the things I found completely incomprehensible. Now we've moved back from Bosnia, the time has come to draw this blog to a close.

When I started it way back when, it was really for me to keep a record of our time abroad and to keep the odd friend and family vaguely in touch with what we were up to. Eventually I discovered a whole blogging community and this turned into a bit of a life line for me. Life with 2 small boys away from home was, at times, very isolating and lonely. I never really found my Mummy niche in Bosnia, never found other mothers I could hang out with with whom I could despair of ever potty training or getting full nights sleep again. But there they all were in the blogosphere. I could read their stories, often funny, occasionally heartbreaking. It was like having a cup of tea and a natter with a mate over the road. For me, it was invaluable and made all the difference to my time in Bosnia. By providing that headspace, I had the mind set to cope with being an expat.

I was also surprised by the number of people in Bosnia who contacted me through my blog. We met people from all over the country, stayed with a few of them and hope that they will remain friends. Yet others contacted us with all sorts of ideas and help with some of the bureaucratic battles that we were always facing and every offer of help and potential contact was very gratefully received.

Our time in Bosnia was amazing. There were ups and downs but the experiences were unforgettable. Bosnia is a wonderful country full of warm, vibrant, funny and ever so generous people. It is a country that is so let down by its leaders, but a country that has so much to offer and so much potential. If you are thinking of visiting then do. Sarajevo and Mostar are wonderful cities to visit as a tourist, the skiing is good, the scenery spectacular and you will be welcomed. If you are thinking of visiting Bosnia at any point then do get in touch, I can direct you to some good literature, give you some ideas for places to go and things to do.

I say this is the final post, really it is almost the final post. I will be posting a few more times, but with useful information for people thinking of moving to Bosnia, importing a car, all those things that we now have a very detailed knowledge about. Again, feel free to contact me if you want any wildly unprofessional advice. I'll do my best.

So, all that remains is to say a big thank you to everyone. I am going to continue blogging, so if you are vaguely interested then do head on over to my new blog Pants With Names.* No idea yet what I'll be whittering about there, but with the situation in Bosnia remaining fairly volatile expect a few posts along those lines and I suspect that the old small boy destruction tactics will also feature largely. Who knows what else, but I expect I'll find plenty to whitter on about. Pop on over, come follow, subscribe, comment.

In the meantime thank you very much and good night!

* Pants with Names being the winning entry judged by me after 3 days driving in the car with my husband and no radio for company. Congrats to Jen at The Madhouse for her winning entry - do you want a bottle of sljivavica in a plastic bottle? If you do, one will wing its way to you shortly. Alternatively I will buy you a drink when we do eventually meet.... which is also Iota's prize for spotting the potential of the name. For some reason she didn't fancy the homemade plum brandy. Was it the fact the we use it to get ticks off the dog that put you off?

Tricks to help your children settle into new schools

2010-04-27T11:19:00.001+02:00

Our boys seem to have taken to going to school and playgroup with some enthusiasm. I'd love to claim that it is because we carefully prepared them for their new schools, talked them through what was going to happen, spent hours settling them in. The reality is somewhat different. They are enjoying school and nursery so much because, as Adam says, "going to storage and unpacking boxes is really boring".

So, my advice to anyone with a child starting school? Make the time spent at home so unbelivably dull that they will embrace any form of anything as far more fun.

In the meantime, I return to going to storage and unpacking boxes. It has to be said that the boys aren't wrong. Going to storage and unpacking boxes is really really boring.

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To get you into the election mood, pop over to Mummy Do That for her British Mummy Bloggers take on the election carnival!

Covered Up

2010-04-25T09:35:00.000+02:00

We've been back in the UK for 10 days. 10 days in which we have been living again in a country that isn't predominantly Muslim. 10 days in which I haven't been woken for the call to prayer by the mosque over the road. So why is it that in the last 10 days I've seen more fully veiled women here than I saw in 2 years in Bosnia?
Women in headscarves and loose fitting clothes are a common sight in Bosnia, and they often look amazing, really elegant and very stylish. Bosnia is a country where Islam is widely practiced, yet virtually no woman feels that they should be fully covered. In two years I saw 2 such women, and from the expressions of those around me I could tell that I wasn't the only one to find them unusual.

I like to think that I'm a tolerant person. I do believe that people should be able to wear whatever they want to. But if I'm being really honest with myself I find that I do have a problem with women being fully covered. It makes me very uncomfortable, I don't like it. I can't quite pinpoint what it is that I don't like. Is it that I feel the women are being discriminated against for having to wear it? Or that I just can't trust someone if I can't see their face? I'm not sure, I haven't decided yet. But in my unease I find more discomfort that I appear to be agreeing with the extremist political parties who preach intolerance.

Countries like France are considering bringing in a ban on the full veil in public places. On the one hand I oppose it, it affects peoples ability to practice their religion as they wish too and it curtails their freedom to dress themselves as they wish. Vince Cable's argument on Question Time used to defend South Park's various highly insulting sketches is applicable; the right to freedom of speech for everyone must come before the rights of smaller groups not to be offended. So the rights of religious groups to dress as they wish should come before my discomfort at what they choose to wear.

But then I think that many devout Muslims in Bosnia do not feel the need to cover their women in order to practice their religion and at a very basic level don't really understand why others can't practice their religion in the same way, particularly when living in Europe. But I am interested to know what other people think. Do you feel comfortable seeing fully covered women in public? What do you think about a ban on the full veil in public places?

In at the deep end; starting school in April

2010-04-20T21:33:00.000+02:00

Adam has really been flung into life in England at the deep end. It seems to be the way we work as a family so I suppose he needs to get used to it, but it isn't easy.

Today was his first day at school, 5 days after we moved back into to our house. He turns 5 in May so didn't need to start school until the beginning of this term. So until now, whilst his contemporaries have been slaving away at their desks learning through play, he's been swanning around in a Bosnian nursery. Of course the reality is that the two aren't really that different, except here everyone speaks English (big plus point according to Adam) but he has to stay until 3pm rather than skipping home with Mummy at 12 (big negative point according to Adam, as you can have too much of a good thing apparently).

But the way things are done in the two school systems are quite distinct. The Bosnian system always seemed to reflect their communist heritage. The emphasis was on learning by repitition and attention to detail. They were encouraged to colour in inbetween the lines, often told what colour to do which section. The result of which is that he has terrific ability to use a pen, but doesn't really know what to do when confronted with a big blank piece of white paper.

3 weeks later he is at the other end of the education system spectrum in the British system. There is so much to do in his classroom, Adam's eyes nearly popped out of his head with excitement when he saw the range of lego and then he caught sight of the puzzles. There's enough there to keep him happy for months.

By the most amazing stroke of luck his teacher is Serbian. She can speak the same language (Serbian and Bosnian are essentially the same language), she knows the system and the alphabet. So when Adam throws in the odd 'lj' 'nj' 'dz' and other letters that I can't work out how to type here, she'll know where he's coming from.

So although he is naturally quite shy and did not want to be left on his own, I think he'll be swimming along just fine in a few days.

Now that April's there...

2010-04-18T23:27:00.000+02:00

Oh, to be in England. At long last and now in even more chaos than normal, we are. It’s odd being back. Nothing has changed. Well, the kids on the street are taller than two years ago and the local pub has gone gastro but apart from that, really nothing has changed. We’ve been back for 2 days now and it honestly feels like we were never away.

A few things though about England though that have really stood out for me over the last couple of days which I want to write down before they become normal.

There are a lot of cars on the roads. Really a lot of cars. Admittedly we didn’t drive much in Sarajevo which is more congested, but we aren’t in London either.

The cars here are all really new. Well obviously not all new, but they seem new, they look new. The Bosnians are masters at patching things together. There are quite a few cars on the roads that due to their age and mileage should probably have been sent to the old cars home a while back. But whilst cars cost so much in Bosnia, no one is going to let an old car wheel their zimmerframe towards a graceful retirement.

There is real racial diversity here. All sorts of accents, languages, colours. I like it. I’d forgotten how long it had been since I saw someone of Asian or African descent walking down the street.

The average Brit does not dress as well as the average Bosnian. By some way.

Supermarkets are enormous, frightening places. In the middle of Tesco Extra I did find myself wondering whether anyone would hear me scream. Still couldn’t find a medium sized pack of plain old cheddar.

Listening to the local radio station to hear about traffic jams on the Abingdon Road is not nearly as entertaining when you are actually on the Abingdon Road.

It doesn't take 2 seconds to get used to driving on the left again, but remembering that the speed signs are in Miles per hour and not Kilometers per hour takes a little longer.

An English Sunday roast sitting in a field outside a countryside pub is one of the seven wonders of the world.

When the sun is shining there is nowhere in the world more glorious than the English countryside.

Bosnian Humour

2010-04-11T20:05:00.000+02:00

I've been wanting to write a post about Bosnian humour for ages, but couldn't find the right way to illustrate it. How do you represent something that is creative, quirky, totally irreverent and very funny? Then I saw this picture on Amila Bosnae's blog. It is entitled What to do in Bosnia on a winter's day and was taken this year in Sarajevo. To me, this epitomises Bosnian humour perfectly.

I can't find who to credit, so if you know then please let me know.

PS - in case you are wondering... we have now totally finally and officially left Bosnia. We even (eventually) got the car export documents stamped. Our total belongings and the dog are in the back of the car. We have made our stately and rather cramped progress across Europe and are now somewhere around Switzerland? France maybe? Should be back proper on Tuesday.

Visas and politicians

2010-04-09T10:11:00.000+02:00

I've been spending the last couple of days trying to finish off bits and pieces of my research, which has meant driving all over the country and a lot of coffees with lots of different people, talking about all sorts of things. It has been illuminating for me, a wonderful way to finish my time in Bosnia.

Mostly we've been talking about the situation in Bosnia now. There are elections to be held in October. The politicians are getting ready for them, which means more and more nationalist rhetoric. The Dayton Peace Agreement which bought the war to an end in 1995 established the political structure which operates today. It ensures that each group, the Bosniaks (Bosnian Muslims), Bosnian Croats and Bosnian Serbs are guaranteed a certain number of seats according to their 'nationality'. The unintended effect of this is that the politicians only need to appeal to their own in order to be elected and there is no incentive reach across the divides to appeal to others. In practice this means the politicians become more and more nationalistic as they fight to exaggerate the threat to their people and claim that they are the only ones capable of protecting their heritage and rights. It's fairly disgusting to watch, makes the nauseousness I feel watching the British politicans point scoring off each other seem insignificant.

The banging of chests started early. The Bosnian Serbs are leaping about saying that they are going to hold a referendum seeing whether the Republika Srpska (the Serb half of the country) should move away (possibly cede altogether?) from the rest of Bosnia. The Croats watch carefully, if the Serbs can then maybe they can too. The Bosniaks leap up and down claiming that their country is under threat. Everyone ignores that constitutionally it can't be done, where's the vote winner in being rational?

Talking to the local Bosnians, you realise that they don't pay that much attention to the politicians. Most of them won't vote anyway, believing it doesn't make any difference whatsoever and that all politicians are crooks. The Brits get expenses scandals, the Bosnians understand that to be a way of life.

There is one thing though that the Bosnians are incredibly bitter about. In December, Serbia was entered onto the White List, permitting Serbs to travel to Europe without a visa. Croatia has been allowed to do so for some time now. Bosnia, although only just slightly less prepared that Serbia was, was not allowed to join as they didn't quite meet all of the standards required. As most Bosnian Croats already hold Croatian passports and Bosnian Serbs can apply for Serbian ones, it is really only the Bosnian Muslims who can not travel freely.

People resent this. They really really resent it. Some people say it is unfair becauseSerbia and Croatia didn't suffer as much in the break up of Yugoslavia and chose to fight their differences on Bosnian soil, for which Bosnians are still paying the price. Others say that it is a conspiracy by Europe against the Muslims in Bosnia, that Europeans are discriminating against them because of their religion. People say that it is deeply unfair that the perpetrators of the genocide in Srebrenica (Serbs) should be allowed to travel freely but their victims (Bosnian Muslims) cannot.

Just sitting and chatting to people, it is this topic more than any other that causes people to get angry and upset. In the run up to the election, with the politicians starting to agitate a nationalistic agenda, Europe should look carefully at their decision not to allow Bosnia visa free travel. There are rumours that they may be granted it in the summer. It would be enormously helpful to the country if that were to happen.

Mean Mummy

2010-04-07T18:13:00.001+02:00

Two boys.

Lots of toys

Room for one toy box 40cm sq in the car*.

Not so many toys.

Starting to think I might be being a bit brutal in the toy cull.

*whilst the boys are having a lovely time playing in every playground in England, I'm back in Bosnia packin up the house before driving back with all our stuff. If it doesn't fit in the car then it has to be left behind.

A New Life

2010-04-05T09:58:00.001+02:00

The other day I went over for coffee with a friend here, let's call her Azra. We were sitting in her kitchen and she suddenly asked me how old I was.

I'm 37 Azra. Well nearly 38.

Azra carried on spooning the coffee absentmindedly and didn't say anything for a little while.

Do you dye your hair? She asked eventually.

I wasn't sure where this was going. I don't dye my hair but I'm also blessed with not a grey hair on my head despite my advanced age. I said not.

She was quiet again.

You look so much younger than me. I'm only 2 years older than you, but I look like your mother.

She was right. We do look like we come from different generations. It is not so much that I look young, but that she looks far older than her years.

But Azra, I started to say I haven't had to deal with a half of the things you've had to cope with in your life.

For Azra has had to live a life. She came from a village near Srebrenica. When the war started she was newly married with a little baby. They were worried by the rumours of what was happening in villages further north and left her home to come to Tuzla. Her husband joined the Bosnian Army (which was essentially the Bosnian Muslim forces). She had another baby. Her husband sent word that he was so excited to be the father of a little girl and that he couldn't wait to meet her. She never heard from him again.

After the war she remarried, had another baby. This husband started beating her, so she left him. He cut all ties, refusing to acknowledge his son, refusing to pay towards his upkeep.

So there was Azra. 3 children. No money. No job. Her family were scattered across the world. One brother was in the US, another in France yet another in Germany. They sent her money occasionally but it wasn't really enough to live on. Her father was dead now, her mother came to Tuzla, sick, and moved in with her and her children into their 1 bedroom flat. She tried to find work but couldn't. They found the remains of her first husband in a mass grave near Pilica. She went to the mosque for the first time in years.

I'm going to leave Bosnia, she said. There's nothing for me here except sadness and loss. I have no more hope here. I must leave.

They decided to move to a Germany. Azra asked her brothers for money and paid 4000KM to a fixer to obtain for them a visa to travel as tourists into Europe. The fixer organised everything for them. He arranged for a letter to say that Azra's eldest son was employed (he wasn't). He arranged for a letter stating that they had a certain amount of money in the bank (they didn't). He arranged for an invitation to be provided by someone in Poland to make it look as if they would be travelling there, but applied for a Shengen visa, which permits travel to any European country.

Their visa request was refused. They reapplied. It was refused again. They applied once more. I asked Azra why they didn't wait until Bosnia gets visa free travel, likely to be this year.

I can't wait any more. I want to go. I have to go. I can't stay here any more. I'm stuck, I can't do anything here.

The third time they applied they got it. The next day they were on a bus, with all their belongings, off to start their new life.

I haven't heard from Azra since they arrived in Germany. I don't know what she is going to do in Germany. She didn't finish school and has no formal qualifications. None of the family speak German. I asked her what she would do there. There are lots of jobs for cleaners she said. I said that the global recession had hit European countries pretty hard too and that there weren't lots of jobs any more. There are she insisted. Someone told me there are. I will find one. I will have a job.

Their tourist visa is about to expire. They have no intention of coming back. I wonder how they are finding Germany, if Azra has found a job. But I wonder most if they are missing Bosnia. The blossoms are out here now. Everyone is sitting outside having coffee, tending to their vegetable patches and enjoying the sunshine. The young kids are playing on the streets and the older ones are strolling up and down the road laughing with their friends and eyeing up the boys.

New Blog Name competition

2010-04-03T10:26:00.000+02:00

I need a new blog name. When we get back I can't keep calling myself Brits In Bosn3ia because, well, we are not in Bosnia.

So, I'm opening my first ever competition. Leave a comment with a suggestion for my new blog name. The winner, totally random and chosen by me according to my whim on the day, will receive a genuine bottle of home-made plum brandy for that genuine authentic Bosnian moment. Actually you will need to put on a tracksuit, pair of wellies and sit outside singing raucous songs and eating half a cow for the actual authentic Bosnian moment, but this will be pretty close.

For some extraordinary reason, no one is sponsoring this post but I can guarantee that the sljivavica is homemade as we were there when it was made. Or maybe I'll offer up the stuff that the vet gave us, currently used for getting ticks off the dog, but locals say that his stuff has a good reputation. The winner can choose.

PS - on a totally different track, I'm ridiculously chuffed to have been nominated in three categories for the MADS awards. If you nominated me, thank you so much, you have no idea how much that made my day/week/month/year. If you haven't nominated already then click on the MADS button on the right and go and do so now.

Back Again

2010-04-03T09:50:00.000+02:00

Literally. I'm back in Bosnia. The boys are staying with my Mum and I'm back in Tuzla thinking that the house is too quiet and what on earth am I going to do with all that time today.

We flew back on Tuesday. Drove through northeastern Bosnia playing our uniquely Bosnian car game - spot the bombed out house, with extra points for the mine signs. The road from Tuzla from Bijeljina is a good one for this game and as I'd spectacularly forgotten to put any toys or anything in the back of the car for the boys to play with on the 3 hour trip to Belgrade (had been thinking of the flight, forgot that the trip to the airport was also a fairly substantial length of time) we were getting desperate for car games to keep them amused. It was a lovely day, English summer like day. Warm, but not too hot. Gentle breeze. Lovely.

We had decided to fly back from Serbia. Unfortunately it was also the day that the Serbian Government had decided to debate the resolution condemning the events in Srebrenica which was also making the Serb border guards jumpy. We spent a long time at the border, making the final drive to the airport a race against time. Mild panic about missing the flight, always conducive to a stress free trip I feel.

Of course we made it, no problems. Of course the boys were perfectly behaved. It was actually a remarkably pleasant journey. We flew across Europe, looking down through the clear skies. We crossed the channel and started our descent into Heathrow, meeting the clouds on our way down. We landed and rain battered the windows.

Mummy? said Adam
Yes Darling?
Does it always rain in England?
Um, quite often, but they do have lots of playgrounds.

And so we were back.

Travelling...

2010-03-31T18:33:00.000+02:00

Not in today. Try the CuddleDry site instead.

The home straight

2010-03-29T10:01:00.001+02:00

Home. I fly the boys home tomorrow. There'll be playgrounds and Thai food. Lots of family. I'll be able to eavesdrop on conversations in the tube. I'll read the paper, and understand everything including which political party represents what and who the celebrities are*. I'll know what to expect when we pop round to someones house. They'll serve me tea with milk and not look like at me as if I've just stepped off a space ship.

Such an emotive word, home. It signifies so much; safety and security, comfort, acceptance. It is a place where you understand the culture and the culture understands you. It is where you have roots, where you don't have to think. It is like sliding on a well worn glove, it just fits perfectly, it is almost invisible.

Home is a difficult word for an expat. We avoided talking about England as home for a long time. We were living here, in Bosnia. It didn't make sense to refer to our Bosnian house as anything apart from home. But we are not 'at home' in Bosnia. We don't speak the language well enough, the culture isn't our culture, it isn't invisible around us, it doesn't live in our bones. We need to work at being at home in Bosnia. But whilst we were here that is what we did. We didn't want to constantly be looking back to another country. Bosnia and England are very different but we were living in Bosnia so we concentrated upon that. We loved it here. We made it our home as best we could.

Now we are going home though. Really going home. I can feel myself starting to relax already.

*that might not be true. I don't have a clue who any of the celebs are anymore. And what is this Glee thing that people keep talking about anyway?

Becoming Bosnian, Staying English

2010-03-26T10:10:00.000+01:00

Signs we have been in Bosnia for a loooong time and there may be some readjustment required before entry back into the UK:

1. When the traffic lights go green, my first instinct is now to hoot the horn, then to put the car in gear.

2. Pedestrians, what are they? (in my defence, if you take the definition of safe driving to be driving in a way that people expect you to, then stopping to let pedestrians cross the road does constitute dangerous driving as people will go into the back of you).

3. When I look out of the window and see some metal poles in the garden opposite, my first thought isn't ooo, look, football goalposts, it is oooo, look, a place to bash carpets.

4. It's 6pm. I've just decided to make the boys burgers for dinner, but we have no mince or buns. But that's ok, because we can nip round the corner to the butcher (open every day until 7pm) and then wander along just a little further to a bakers (open everyday until 10pm). On the way back I'll stop at the little local store to pick up some fresh tomatoes and free range eggs from the chickens in their backyard (open every day until 10pm). Total walking time for the entire round trip. 5 minutes. Total cost, not very much at all. England is going to come as a shock. I'm dreading Tesco's and the thought of the local convenience store veg there is making me feel a bit sick.

5. A no-smoking table? What's that?

6. A coffee in a cafe can last a good 90 minutes. Possibly longer.

7. Activities and meeting up with friends are to be arranged no earlier than the previous day. Any earlier, and the other person will just forget anyway. I've learnt to look at my week, stretching before me with nothing arranged at all and not be scared. I'm a little worried if I look at a week with many activities planned, I'm going to go into controlled chaotic panic.

8. Everything can be mended, fixed, put back together. Throw nothing away. If nothing else then the boys can play with it outside.

9. An obsession with cleaning windows has taken hold. The Bosnians are forever hanging out of high towers to ensure their windows are sparkling. It's quite nice, particularly when compared to the greasy smeared efforts of our house in the UK.

10. On learning that we have to go and see a Bosnian ministry, our first thought is now 'who do we know who might be able to help us' rather than just heading over with hope in our hearts and confidence in the system.

Signs that I will never be a Bosnian however long I stay

1. I do believe that sljivavica (plum brandy, the national drink) is not fit for human consumption. I am now ducking for cover as the Bosnians recoil in horror and start proceedings for our instant deportation.

2. My Bosnian is torture for the listener. But they seem to understand much better when I put on my best James Bond villain accent. Then I have no problems. Well except for the attack of the giggles as I imagine myself a karate chopping, leather wearing, sleek black bob sporting, kick ass kind of girl.

3. I can't wear jeans that tight. I just can't.

4. Dumping rubbish, especially in the parks and areas of beauty is just not acceptable. Smashing bottles all over the place isn't remotely amusing either.

5. I can't take the ticks. The season has started. I now spend my evenings grooming the dog and extracting them from her fur. They are disgusting creatures and meet their doom in a glass of sljivavica (see point 1).

6. When I say no chocolate for the kids, I really mean please don't give them any chocolate. Feeding them sugar out of the sugar bowl isn't acceptable either. Particularly when one has already been car sick that day and we've got a bit of a drive home.

7. I have no idea if food will be served when we go to visit someone. I've lost count of the number of times we've been served up an enormous meal, with multiple courses when all I was expecting was a coffee.

8. I like set meal times. Breakfast at the beginning of the day. Lunch after some morning activities. Dinner when it is getting dark. I have no idea when the Bosnians eat their meals, but it certainly isn't the same schedule as mine!

9. I like my children to go to bed by 8pm at the latest. By 8pm I have had enough of them, and they have had enough of me. Plus I want to have a bath in peace. The thought of them still being up at 10pm and later makes me feel a tad teary.

10. Playgrounds are good things. Playgrounds that are open are better. Playgrounds that aren't built on the thickest gloopiest mud imaginable are better still. Playgrounds with all of these and without nails sticking out of the equipment are best of all. My boys are going to be in seventh heaven when they get back and see their first playground since November. Come to think of it, so will I.

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As you can see by the post, we are not sitting on a flight from Belgrade as was looking likely next week. The boys and I are coming back on Tuesday instead. I'm looking forward to the flight as much as the thought of searching for a bracelet in a bucket of vomit. To get me in the mood of flying with two small children I'm off to read the flying with kids carnival put together by Mellow Mummy. And then I'm stick my head in the sand about moving for a bit longer.

Property Porn

2010-03-25T10:43:00.001+01:00

I love me a good Property porn moment. You know those shows when people buy a wreck in the depths of some foreign countryside and then have do it up (with inevitable dramas) to a beautiful house and then proceed to live the good life with their peach orchards and free range chickens. Grand Designs is one of my favourite shows of all time, but any of them will do really.

Since we've been in Bosnia I've been approached by countless TV companies and journalists all wanting to do a similar show in Bosnia. Because, in case you've missed it, Bosnia is apparently the latest property hot spot. Bargains a-plenty to be had. Don't balk at the Balkans as a recent Sunday Times Property section article had it.

Now Bosnia is a wonderful country. It is beautiful, spectacularly so. There are snow-capped mountains, with great skiing and cool, emerald green rivers. There are untouched forests, river gorges, wonderful hiking and mountain biking opportunities (if you are interested in taking a holiday here then have a look at GreenVisions who organise excellent tours). It is very close to the Adriatic Sea and even has its own 12km stretch of coast line near Dubrovnik. The legacies of the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires have left some very attractive cities, full of culture. The people are fabulous; funny, irreverent, generous to a fault and full of life. The weather is great, hot, dry summers full of swimming in lakes, barbeques and outside activities. Proper, cold winters with snow, skiing, ice-skating and excellent hot chocolate. It is the perfect place for a Property Porn style programme.

Except it isn't. I wouldn't buy a property in Bosnia. I love the country, I love the people. I've been to a few of this type of house and they are wonderful. But there are many, many factors which would stop me from investing huge amounts of my personal money into a stone farmhouse ruin of a dream.

1. The political situation. Headlines from British Newspapers saying that Bosnia is on the brink of war are probably overblown. Certainly no one I know here seriously expects that the country is going to descend into full-scale conflict again. But, the political situation is here is tense. Very tense. They have been quiet over the winter, but with elections later this year and the nationalists gearing up to try and scare the local population into voting for them, I certainly wouldn't say that it was stable. There is a very real possibility of some isolated violence over the next couple of months.

2. The Bureaucracy: Regular readers of this blog will know how much time, energy and pure levels of pain is taken up dealing with the Bosnian bureaucracy. Really, it is the true definition of purgatory. The extent of the Catch 22 that ensnares unsuspecting victims is jaw dropping. Not to mention expensive. For example, to temporarily import our car we have had to put up a £3000 bank guarantee. This is to ensure that we don't sell it whilst we are here. If we wanted to permanently import it, we would have to pay that amount of money. You can't buy a car here unless you have a residency visa. The police are cracking down on foreigners who live here on their tourist visas, just popping over the border every three months to keep in current. They need to; it is an obligation for them to do so if they want to continue along the road of EU membership.

3. Mines: Landmines were a common feature of the Bosnian war. There have been many areas that have been cleared. Many areas have not. Many of the areas that would be most attractive for potential property buyers (e.g. the areas close to the Croatian coast line) were extensively mined during the war. As a totally random aside, apparently the mines, which have meant that many of the forests and wilder areas of the country have been totally untouched for the past 20 years or so, have been brilliant for the wildlife. Whilst the odd bear or wolf may get blown up, the total lack of mans interference in these areas has led to real benefits for these creatures. I find that fascinating.

4. Planning: Planning has not really been a big feature of the Bosnian development of cities and industry so far. This is changing (Tuzla being very proud of the fact that it has recently bought in some form of planning system to try and create zones for industry rather than the hotch potch that is prevalent now). But, as it stands, a factory can be built almost anywhere. Someone can build a house right on the border line of their property, over looking gardens, looking straight into windows. No one here blinks an eye at that, but coming from a good English 'my home is my castle', I find it a touch unnerving. I should probably also mention that even if planning laws were implemented, it probably wouldn't stop someone who had the right connections and enough money from totally circumventing them if they wanted to, respect for the rule of law not being what it ought to be at all levels. So, I would be very worried that my Bosnian dream property might find itself right next to a cement factory and there would be nothing that I could do about it.

5. Property Title: As mentioned above, respect for the rule of law isn't as strong in Bosnia as it might be. The issue of property title is also relevant. During the latest war, half the population were displaced. Some have returned. Some haven't. There was a fairly rigorous return of property programme, but I'd not have total confidence that no one else would have claim to that property that was being sold. It is also worth remembering that Bosnia used to be a Communist country, and title to property was not always clear cut.

There are a number of other things that I would worry about. I do find it particularly telling that most of these Property Porn programmes, so keen to sell Bosnia as the next property hotspot, have never actually been to the country. I also find it very revealing that most of the people who have bought here are married to Bosnians or, at the very least, speak the language.

I feel a bit let down. I'll never be able to see their articles and programmes in the same way now I know the type of issues that they have concealed. What am I going to dream about now, in those idle moments when I envisage myself wafting around in a white floaty dress in a lavender field carrying a wicker basket before heading back to my stone farmhouse with its enormous kitchen, big wooden table with never ending sunshine and beautifully behaved children? Maybe I'll just aim for having children that aren't dismantling the house. Probably more realistic.

The Gallery: Me

2010-03-24T07:42:00.001+01:00

Week Four of the Sticky Finger's Gallery. This week's prompt was 'Me'. This one was always going to be difficult, as I have a general rule of not publishing recognisable photos of us. Anyhow, a bit of a search through the old archives (well the archives that I have with me in BiH) came up with a few contenders. I like this one. I like the thought of my life being all calmness, having acres of time to teach a small boy about seaweed and broken shells.

The reality of my life is not so much like that. It's more like this.

This photo is a few years old now. The boys are a lot bigger. They still climb all over me on a regular basis.

Perceptions of Refugees

2010-03-23T10:37:00.001+01:00

I've realised that we are leaving really quite soon (still not sure when, thank you BA for informing us of you rescheduled flights in a manner that is neither timely nor helpful). Anyway, I've also realised that I still have quite a lot to say. So, expect quite a few posts over the next week or so. My notebook is brimming with ideas and I want to write them whilst I can look out of the window and see the country, not whilst I'm remembering how it was.
First up is an excerpt from an excellent and surprisingly funny book that I recently finished. Vesna Maric was 16 when she fled the war in Mostar, exchanging it for a life in Northern England. I highly recommend her book, Bluebird, for an insight of what it is like to leave your country and to become a refugee.

One passage really stood out to me, it highlighted much about the Bosnians, but also, more revealingly perhaps, about the British. It takes place as Vesna is about to board the bus that will take them to England, cementing their status as refugees.

"None of us knew exactly where we were going. All that Dragan had told us was to dress down and look as bedraggled as possible, because the previous group, he said, was too dressed up. The British had complained they didn't really look like refugees. Dragan had described it to my mother the week before, over the telephone: 'They looked as if they were dressed for a wedding!' I imagined my vain compatriots in their Italian fashion suits rescued from their homes, lipstick and eye shadow intact, like armour.

The British had, understandably, expected something a little more like 'proper' refugees: people suffering, hardship visible on their faces, clothes torn and wrinkled, children's eyes crusted with tears. Dragan wove through the crowd, closely inspecting everyone's outfits by pinching a shirt, a skirt or a trouser between two fingers, rubbing it to feel its quality, a look of disgust on his face. It seemed we were well below standard. But the unspoken motto of these Bosnian mothers was: 'If we are going to be refugees, let's not advertise our misery, let us at least look good,' and I could understand how they felt. It's not easy suddenly becoming a refugee." (pg. 28)

It sums the Bosnians up perfectly. It doesn't matter how terrible their situation, how difficult their life is, whatever happens they are going to look good. You can see it everywhere today. Whatever their situation, the Bosnians will manage to sew, mend, share, create, borrow, whatever the right clothes and they will look good. Night after night you will see the kids walking down the roads dressed up to the nines. Their hair is immaculate, their make-up flawless. The look is a little over the top for my tastes, but there is no doubt about it, you notice the Bosnians. The men too like to be well groomed, they spend hours tweaking and gelling their hair to its imagined perfection, choosing the right t-shirt, teaming it with the perfect leather jacket.

The only time you don’t see a well turned out Bosnian is if they are working in their gardens, in which case the dress code is tracksuits and wellies. Very sensible if you ask me.

I can understand that there was no way, absolutely no way, in which the Bosnians were going to go to England underdressed. They were going to look good and that was that. To not do so would be to let down their country and their culture.

But it is the British point of view that I find fascinating. The British wanted to help. They organised a bus to spirit people away from the awful conflict. But, they wanted to know that they had helped. They wanted to see traumatised people climbing off that bus, people who had suffered. Their idea of a refugee, someone who had suffered during the war did not include a few well-dressed women with dignity and pride.

Somehow, it seems that once people have had the status of refugee tagged onto them that over-rides any other identity. It matters not that the person had skills, was a Doctor, Engineer, Vet. Nor that they have opinions of their own. Nor that they are an individual with their own thoughts and experiences.

I’m only just restraining myself from starting a rant about the Daily Mail, but it does seem to me that if we can’t see the people who are forced to come to our country for reasons out of their control as people and individuals, but force them to inhabit a role of our perceived notions about refugees, we are guilty of an enormous disservice to those who most need our help.

Why do people not vaccinate their children?

2010-03-22T09:48:00.002+01:00

There's a whole epidemic of chicken pox going on at nursery. This doesn't bother me a whole lot; both of mine have already had chicken pox. In fact, Luke had chicken pox when he was 9 weeks old, despite being exclusively breast fed so don't believe those stories that babies will get your antibodies through your breast milk. There is also a rumour of a few cases of measles here too. This doesn't bother me either; both of mine are fully vaccinated against everything.

The Bosnians also believe in vaccination, and have a schedule that is very similar to the British one; the only difference being that the children are also routinely immunised against TB whereas in the UK they inoculate those children they think are more at risk.

Which is why I was so surprised to have a conversation with a parent here that went along the lines of this:

Parent: I'm very worried about the outbreak of measles.
Me: Oh, measles isn't good but if your child has had the vaccine then there should be nothing to worry about.
Parent: We don't believe in vaccinations. Our child hasn't had any.

Now, I'm a fan of parental choice. I think that everyone should be able to choose how they want to bring up their children. There is only one parental decision that I have any strong opinion on, and that is that every single child should be vaccinated. These childhood diseases can be killers. They are serious and they can be controlled but to do so everyone needs to inoculate their children.

I'm not really talking about the MMR here (MMR being the combined vaccination for Mumps, Measles and Rubella which was linked to autism in children in the late 1990s, the research of which was later discredited). After all, you can still vaccinate your children separately against these illnesses if you don't want to have the combined vaccine. No I'm talking about those who choose not to immunise their children at all. I simply don't understand this decision.

Is it because most people do immunise their children reducing the likelihood of an epidemic, meaning that some feel they can afford to run the risk of not inoculating their own? But, at the risk of offending a few people, isn't this quite a selfish form of action to take? Everyone else can have the inoculations so we don't have to?

Is it because fit and healthy children can usually throw off these illnesses without long term damage? But some children are not fit and healthy, some are not able to be vaccinated. By allowing the potential of a spread of disease, surely these more susceptible children are being exposed unnecessarily?

Back to the conversation. I spluttered a bit before finally muttering something along the lines of being very pleased that mine were fully vaccinated and headed off. British you see - don't like unnecessary conflict. But the conversation has been playing on my mind for a few weeks now. So I thought I'd bring it out in the open here and see if there is anyone out there who can shed light on why they believe that no vaccinations is a sensible choice. Am I the only one who struggles to see the sense in this course of action?

Dear So and So... the final Bosnian edition?

2010-03-19T10:14:00.001+01:00

I just realised that there is a high probability that I will be flying back with the boys to the UK next Friday. That is in SEVEN DAYS. Has the time come yet to panic? Probably. Best not to think about it I feel. Concentrate on thoughts of Thai food and sausages, ignore state of house and the fact that I haven't found yet the suitcases I need to pack the boys stuff. It'll all be alright in the end. Far better idea to get cracking on one of Kat's Dear So and So blog posts. Much more enjoyable. I can always start the packing tomorrow.

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Dear Winter,

You are DONE. Dusted. Dispatched. Get ye out of here and don't come back. The snow is melted. The sun is out. The smog and pollution is lifting. As they say around here Dosta Zima! (Enough of winter). We won't miss you.

Don't even think of a final hoorah,
Fraught Mummy.

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Dear Car People,

You tried your best. The old yes you have everything you need but what about another sticker on this bit of paper that we haven't told you about before line just didn't cut the mustard. You folded in the end. You have no idea how pleased I am to have the car back. Really didn't know how we were going to get all our stuff back to the UK if you hadn't got bored of us.

Yours, looking pretty mobile
FM

PS - lets not cause us any problems when we have to come and see you in about 2 weeks to sort out the export of the car...

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Dear Tuzla Authorities,

Look! It's Spring! The sun is shining! Everyone is out and wants to play outside. Please please please can you open the playground now? Please?

Yours, not above begging,
FM

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Dear House,

You are falling apart. The fusing of all the kitchen appliances last night was not what was required. Can you just hold it together for a few more weeks? Then we'll be gone and won't have to worry.

Yours, not very good at DIY
FM

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Dear Tuzla Restaurants,

For all this time we didn't believe that any of you did delivery food. But with the failure of kitchen appliances and no way to cook supper the other night we were proved wrong. Not only is there home delivery, but you can do it all online and the pizzas were really good (Pizza Trkacica if anyone interested). Now, if we could just work on the take-away coffee concept...

Yours, enjoying the Bosanska Pizza,
FM

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Dear Mosque over the road,

Is your microphone broken? This morning I awoke to hear the call to prayer by all the other mosques but couldn't hear you (and we can't miss it when you get calling). Thinking about it earlier, I can't remember the last time I heard it. Hope you fix it soon, but if you wanted to wait until we've moved that would be fine by me too, it is an early start to the morning for us non-Muslims.

Yours, in peace
FM

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Dear friends in Sarajevo,

After I drop the boys off in the UK with my brave and fearless mother (I'm not sure she has totally appreciated what she is taking on) I'm flying back to Sarajevo for a few days. Anyone around Friday April 2nd and fancy a coffee?

Yours, in excitement about a day in the big city without small children to entertain as well,
FM (except I won't be so fraught, more enjoying the swanky bars and cheese cake in the BBI Centar)

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Dear Tuzla,

You do look so much better when it isn't winter. The skies are clear, the air is so much less polluted. Everyone is having coffee outside. People are out for a stroll in the evening. Really, the spring and summer is when you are at your best. Can't believe we are going to be leaving you now. We'll miss you.

Yours, feeling a touch emotional, and deeply envious of the fun you guys have coming over the next couple of months,
FM

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Dear driver of the car that hit the dog down the road,

You were driving far too fast. And then you hit a dog, breaking its hip or leg. And then you left it there in agony. I hope you are ashamed of yourselves.

Yours, unable to talk with fury,
FM

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Dear neighbours,

It was great to see that everyone got together to help this dog, particularly as you are not, in general, a nation of dog lovers. She had shelter, blankets, food and was being kept clean. Particular gratitude to the people who came to take her to the vet, which isn't cheap. The lady in the shop said that you had said that you were going to keep her if the vet could do something for her. I hope she is ok.

Yours, still finding the life that dogs have here difficult to deal with,
FM

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Dear Mayor,

Are you building another fountain? Pretty sure that the one thing Tuzla doesn't need is any more fountains.

Yours, liking the fountains that are here but feeling there are probably enough,
FM

PS - Tuzla also has enough hairdressers, driving schools, betting shops and cafes. Just in case you were wondering.

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Dear Boys,

It is spring! How exciting is that? So now we can go outside and play football and draw rockets, go exploring in the woods in Slana Banja whilst fighting dragons and making up stories of whispering armies leading us through the canyons. I've got some new chalks for us, let's play hopscotch this afternoon. And I promise you that you will see a playground in the next two weeks. Life doesn't get more exciting than this. Oh yes it can, you can also have sausages and baked beans for supper in the next two weeks too.

Much love and kisses
Mummy xxxx

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Fancy a go yourself? Make sure you head on over to Kat's to sign up so we can all come and read them.

The Gallery: Black and White

2010-03-17T09:45:00.005+01:00

I know, I know. These are different photos to the ones I had up earlier. I suddenly decided that I liked these ones more - still the same day, still the same run down. So it is a bit less of the WHITE and a bit more of the Black & White. That's the joy of it being my blog. I can do what I want. Hoorah!

Date: Christmas Day, 2008

Place: Jahorina Mountain, Sarajevo

My family came to Bosnia for Christmas 2008 and we decided to stay in Jahorina, just outside of Sarajevo. Being Christmas Day and all, we'd had an early start. The boys were so excited, and had opened the stocking presents with enthusiasm. Then there was sudden quiet, they were totally engrossed in their new toys. Mum looked at me and Dave and told us to take the opportunity and get out there; the boys were going to be easy to look after for the next hour or so and we weren't going to get a better chance that this to get some skiing in.

So we did. We were almost the first up the mountain that morning. At the top of the mountain it was a beautiful day, but freezing cold. Above the clouds, it was clear and we could see for miles. It had snowed over night and we choose a route that no one had skied yet. The snow was amazing, beautifully light and powdery, heaven on earth for the snowboarding Dave and pretty fun for me on my two skis. We raced each other down the mountain. We ski at about the same speed, are around the same standard and are both very competitive. We hadn't had so much fun in ages. It was cold, exhilarating, life affirming.

About half way down the mountain we hit the clouds. Everything went white. Dave took a tumble. Too busy laughing at him, I wasn't concentrating on what I was doing and down I went too. Served me right, Dave enjoyed it enormously.

We managed a couple of runs before putting our parent hats back on and returning our grown up responsible selves. But I'll always remember that Christmas morning, when we got to spend some time together, just the two of us, doing something we adore, having so much fun and feeling so alive.

(Week No. 3 of Sticky Fingers' Gallery prompt of COLOUR. There are some amazing pictures there, go and have a look).

A House of Cards

2010-03-16T09:35:00.002+01:00

When planning to move, particularly when planning to move country, there is a lot of organisation and administration. Many, many jobs need to be undertaken, often in a particular order. It takes time and effort to bring the whole lot together.

The way we have tended to do it is to create one definite date and then build the move around it. With one definite in place, it is easier to know when things must be done by, what order they need to be done in and you can guage at what stage you should be at which time in the weeks coming up to the move.

For us, the move home is rapidly approaching. I will be flying back to the UK with the boys at the end of March and leaving them with my very brave mother whilst flying back to Bosnia in order to pack up the car and drive our wordly possessions back (if it doesn't fit in the car, it ain't coming). We booked the flights a while back and have since been building the elaborate administrative structures around that definite date to ensure that we get ourselves back. Vets have been booked to comply with the very stringent UK PETS scheme legislation for bringing animals into the country. Favours have been called in. People have rearranged their own schedules to accomodate us. Notice has been given on the house. Notice has been given our UK house. Places have been booked to stay.

And then the workers at BA announce that they will be on strike the day that we are booked. Our flight, from Belgrade, is one of those that will be affected. Our definite just became a hopefully, if you are lucky.

And down tumbles the house of cards.

PS - if you happen to see me, don't mention those poor misunderstood, underpaid, overworked BA staff. I might just spit venom and start shooting lasers from my eyes.

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If that image of a venom spitting, laser eyed shooting fraught Mummy was a bit scary for you this early in the morning, head over to Baby Baby for the most recent Best of British Mummy Bloggers Carnival - there are 70 posts there, you'll find something you'll want to read.

Hack, hack, splutter, splutter

2010-03-15T10:05:00.000+01:00

To say the Bosnians are a nation of smokers is probably an understatement. The Bosnians are a nation of enthusiastic smokers. Everyone smokes. Everyone. I can count on one hand the number of Bosnians I know who don't smoke.

It isn't so bad in the summer, everyone spends all the time outdoors so, fag ends and cigarette packets detritus apart, you don't notice it so much. But in winter, when everyone is inside with the windows tightly closed, oh lordy me, it is awful. The Bosnians smoke everywhere, restaurants, offices, buses, bars, cafes, you name it. People look in amazement when I ask them to not smoke inside our house but to go outside for their cigarette. The Americans and Europeans amongst you have probably forgotten what it is like to walk into a restaurant and be hit by a wall of cheap cigarette smoke and how horrible it is to eat your meal whilst also breathing in the fumes of the smokers next door to you. It is so ingrained, so presumed that you will be a smoker, that one friend of mine was given this piece of post-natal advice by her doctor 'Try not to smoke for 10 minutes before and after feeding your baby'.

Now the Bosnians know that smoking is not good for you and that it is an unpleasant habit for those of us who aren't smokers. But much like 1970s Britain, that is just seen as tough luck on the non-smokers. There are some no smoking areas. The boys' nursery is mainly non-smoking (but there is still quite a bit of puffing going on in the offices behind closed doors). The Mercator shopping centre (but you can smoke in the cafes there). Some offices, but not many. I can't think of any others.

I the 2 years we've been here, I've sort of got used to it. That isn't to say that I don't notice it anymore, because I do, especially in the winter, but that I expect it and am ready to deal with it. Which is why I was surprised to see this headline saying that the Croatians are bringing in a smoking ban in bars with effect from April 9th. The Croatians love their smoking as much as the Bosnians do (actually the whole of the Balkans love a good cigarette moment). The timing of this ban is clever. The weather is improving and most people will be able to sit outside and smoke so it won't really bite until the winter hits. But it does show that the Balkans are changing. Croatia, being the most European looking, is the first to move. The others will follow. They will have to.

And whilst most Bosnians roar with laughter at the thought of a smoking ban, there are signs of change. The other day I went for a meeting, myself and 3 other Bosnians. Not one person in the group had a cigarette. I had to check I was still in the right country. I was. It was the first time I had ever had a meeting with more than one Bosnian that hadn't involved a cigarette. I know more non-smokers (and ex-smokers) here than I ever did before. As I say to the Bosnians who say 'we'll never have a ban here', we never thought we would in the UK either. But we do, and it will happen in the Balkans too. Maybe not tomorrow, but it will.

A Tribute to Mothers... our mothers. The Gratitude Tag

2010-03-11T10:36:00.000+01:00

A while back I wrote a post about taking my boys ice-skating and how much they enjoyed it and how much I hated it. That post really struck a chord with that lovely Hong Kong blogger, Bloomin Marvelous, who wrote a post about how we don't really appreciate what our mothers did for us until we become mothers ourselves. She has a point. I had no idea how often my Mum had been up during the night, cleaned up vile smelling substances, counted to ten in her head before tackling some dreadful behaviour, stood freezing in thigh deep Arctic waters willing us to learn how to swim, until I had to do it all myself.

Bloomin Marvelous also tagged me in her Gratitude Tag to write a bit about my mother, to celebrate her and say why she is so amazing. And in the run up to Mother's Day I thought I should finally take her up on it. For much as Mother's Day is all about me in this household, it is a chance to say thanks to my Mum and sorry that I won't be there this year to join you all. Next year, I promise.

Both Mum and Dad had, shall we say, less than conventional upbringings. But somehow, they have created a really strong, close family. I can't underestimate how difficult this must have been. Everyone says that you will replicate the mistakes of your parents, but Mum didn't. She made her own decisions and created her own path and my brothers and I have been the incredibly fortunate beneficiaries of that. There was nothing that she wouldn't do for us growing up. She was always there, listening, helping, teaching. We moved about a bit, lived in other countries but Mum didn't falter. She went to another culture and carried on, creating and nuturing her family, whatever the differences and difficulties that the outside world had to throw at her. Now I am living in another culture I know how difficult that is. She did an amazing job.

She wasn't afraid to buck the system. Taking my brother and I out of school for a month because we had an opportunity to go to Africa. The school weren't happy, Mum said 'stuff them'. I remember more from that trip today than from all the rest of my primary school days put together. It was the right decision.

She's glamorous too, my Mum. I mean, she looks amazing. She has great style, I'm envious of her clothes. She's too small for me to borrow many of her clothes but if I could, I would. She is the most likely person to tell me of a new clothes shop find, or an amazing shoe shop. Most people are worried if they dress like their mothers. Me? Well I'm just thrilled if I manage to pull off that look.

Now I'm an adult. Well, there is noone else who will listen to me whitter on about my children for hours on end and still sound interested at the end of it all. No one else will sit for hours looking at different clothes on websites talking about what will suit me and when will I wear it. I'm incredibly lucky, my mother is amazing. If I can do half as good a job as her then I will be so proud with what I have achieved.

So Mum, Happy Mother's Day and I don't have the words to say how much I love you. Thank you for everything.

I offer this tag up to anyone that wants to take it up, but in particular, if they fancy it:

A Modern Dilemma
London City Mum
Mid Atlantic English
Single Parenthood, Tales from the Frontline
Notes from Lapland

The Gallery: FIVE

2010-03-10T09:32:00.001+01:00

This weeks prompt from Sticky Fingers' Gallery was a number, to be used in any way we wish. An age for example. A number. Whatever comes to mind.

I chose the number 5, for these 5 members of my family settling down for a 5pm tea after a long English sea side afternoon. We'd built sandcastles and eaten ice cream. Uncle Will had threatened to throw the boys in the water and they ran away screaming with terror and delight at the prospect. As memory serves me Uncle Will ended up in the drink, dumped there by his sister (er, me) and his girlfriend. There had been rock pooling and some game involving a bat and a ball and rules that remain unknown. And at 5pm, vibrant with windburn and fresh air, we'd gone back to the beach hut, settled in for a lovely cup of tea with some lemon drizzle cake and enjoyed the view.

Women's Day and special post surprises

2010-03-09T10:47:00.000+01:00

Yesterday was International Women's Day. It always takes me by surprise here, for us Brits don't really celebrate it. The Bosnians however, they go to town. It is huge here. You couldn't move yesterday for men carrying flowers and trinkets off to see their mother, wife, sister to say thank you, you are appreciated. Every single person I met yesterday wished me luck and gave me a big kiss, occasionally a little alarming but all very genuine. It seems that the popularity of Woman's Day is not limited to Bosnia either, the fascinating Paradise Lost in Translation blogging from Albania wrote about it yesterday in her post Women's Day which is well worth a read.

Needless to say Woman's Day didn't have that much of an impact in our house. The boys gave me some chocolate that nursery had given them to give to me, and promptly ate it themselves when I wasn't looking. Dave muttered something about manufactured holidays. Ah well. I didn't care, because my very first Secret Post Club parcel had arrived, from that irrepressible Rosie Scribble. It had all sorts in it, things to pamper myself with (very exciting), things to keep the boys occupied whilst I did so (very exciting) and a post card of my home town to remind us what we are missing. It's very beautiful, my home town, and as yesterday was grey, miserable, pollution filled and generally vile in Tuzla it was a real treat to be reminded of what we are going back to. So a huge thank you to Rosie for lightening up my day and not making me feel so left out as everyone else received their Women's Day gifts.

For those who don't know about it the Secret Post Club was started by Heather at Notes From Lapland. Anyone can join. These are the rules:

You will be matched to both a sender and a receiver each month.
On the 1st of the month I'll send you an email with the details of the person to whom you need to send something.
You won't know who is posting you a parcel until it arrives - please don't spoil the surprise by telling the recipient or dropping hints and clues before it gets there.

I love this idea. Surprise parcels? For me? With handwritten addresses and everything? Sign me up. You can join to if you want, click here for more information.

I have enjoyed making my parcels too. Last month Battling On was the surprisingly early recipient of a Bosnian parcel, the post taking only 3 days to get from Tuzla to the UK which is a new record. She wrote about it here.

This month I've been hunting around Tuzla and came across a very interesting centre which uses art as a way to help people deal with the trauma they suffered during the war. Sadly I could only buy some very small pieces of art that they've done as it was the only things that would fit into an envelope but they do amazing decorations on windows and bottles, large canvasses and the artists who participate find their work very helpful. I hope that my recipient likes it, the parcel was posted yesterday. Here's hoping it gets to the UK before we do.

British politics, a dirty, dirty game.

2010-03-08T10:30:00.003+01:00

I wasn’t going to write much about the resumption of Karadzic’s trial last week. It was all going to be fairly predictable and it was. The trial began on Monday which happened to also be a Bosnian National Holiday, their Independence Day, a fact not lost on the Serbs*. Karadzic asked for (and got) more time to prepare, but not before he managed to go on for two days in a speech designed more to remind the Bosnian Serbs of their greatness and less to prepare for his defence. He denied everything, calling the seige of Sarajevo and the events in Srebrenica myths and then called the war ‘just and holy’. I mean holy? Really? I’ve heard many opinions as to why Bosnia imploded in the early 1990s, but religion is most certainly not one of them. Most people I know here couldn't even be bothered to listen to what he had to say, it was all so predictable.

Of far more interest is what else was going on around that day.

For some time, the EU has been trying to encourage Serbia onto the road of EU integration. The biggest obstacle in its path to full membership has been its failure to bring about the arrest of Ratko Mladic, the leader of the Bosnian Serb forces during the war. Everyone thinks Serbia knows exactly where he is. Serbia say they are doing all they can to find him, but he never seems to be found. Either way, every now and then the EU feels that they need to throw Serbia a bone, something to make them remember that they do want to join the EU and to encourage them to continue behaving themselves.

So on the very same day that the Bosnian Serb Karadzic’s trial restarts, Serbia asks Britain to arrest a Bosnian Muslim whom they regard as a War Criminal. Britain, to its eternal shame, did so, arresting Ejup Ganic as Heathrow and detaining him as a prisoner. Ejup Ganic, the Bosniak Vice-President during the war, has already been investigated by the ICTY in The Hague, but no indictments were made, nor formal charges bought.

Essentially the charges revolve around Ganic's role in protecting Sarajevo from the JNA (the Yugoslav army, which essentially became the Bosnian Serb army, as the Bosniak's had to create their own armed forces to defend themselves from agression, particularly difficult as there was an international arms embargo on the region, so they could not buy the weapons that they needed to defend themselves against the heavily armed Serbs). For more information I recommend you read this article by the London based Bosnian Institute, this post by Marko Attila Hoare**, this by Amila Bosnae and finally this by the Srebrenica Genocide Blog (read the comments too)

The British Government has said that it was "just a case of the judicial authorities following their legal obligations" and they were not making a political statement at all. Try telling that to the thousands of protesters outside of the British Embassy in Sarajevo on Friday. They, like pretty much everyone else, see it as a way of appeasing Serbia for the trial of Karadzic.

Sometimes I'm ashamed of my country. They couldn't even get the right country. The arrest warrant for Ejup Ganic's arrest talks of crimes committed in Sarajevo in Serbia. Ethical Foreign Policy? The Bosnians are right to be furious. In the meantime we've been advised, as British citizens, to keep our heads down.

*The Serbs did not want independence, they were essentially fighting against Bosnia’s cessation from the then Yugoslavia. They don’t celebrate Bosnia’s Independence Day.

** the picture that Hoare uses in his post is of an event in Tuzla. Tuzla did manage to repel the JNA army and as such was spared the worst of the ethnic cleansing that afflicted the rest of north eastern Bosnia. This picture freaks me out though. Brcanska Malta is where I go scooting with the boys. I know it well. But every time we go there I find that I can see the burning tanks in the middle of the road.

If I pretend not to notice then it isn't happening

2010-03-06T09:27:00.001+01:00

We had an unexpectedly late night last night. Blame Risk. The taking over the world board game. Apparently we are all evil dictators at heart, and you can never trust anyone, they will always betray you.

But it was a late one. 2am late. The kind of late that I never do any more. Of course, the boys were up at 6am. Of course, it is my day to get up with them.

I'm in denial. The house has the detritus of a global domination campaign all over it; bags of crisps, cold pizza (homemade thank you very much), peanuts, bottles of beer. That classy sort of look. There is no noise from the boys. Actually, that isn't totally true. There is a sort of crisp crackling, muffled giggling. I strongly suspect that they are hiding in the cupboards having laid their hands on some forbidden ill-found goodies.

If I don't notice it then it can't be happening, right? What's so wrong with crisps for breakfast anyway?

Carless and Cross

2010-03-04T11:41:00.001+01:00

We are currently without the use of our car. There's nothing wrong with it, we just aren't allowed to drive it at the moment because we haven't been able to register it for this year. We haven't been able to do that because our visa hasn't been extended yet. So we are waiting for someone in Sarajevo to stamp a bit of paper and send it back to Tuzla. This will, apparently, have to be done in the next 6 weeks. Because apparently it is really time consuming to stamp a piece of paper and pop it in the post.

So our perfectly serviceable car sits in the drive mocking us, as we become acquainted with the Tuzla cabs, buses and I drag the boys kicking and screaming through the rain on foot. It isn't that much of a problem, we walk to and from nursery, we shop in local shops and the cabs are frequent and cheap. But it is getting me down not being able to use the car. We can't take the dog for proper walks as there is nowhere within walkable distance to let her off the lead. I hadn't realised what an important part of my day the dog walk was. Not only did it exercise dog, but it took the brunt of the energy levels off the boys, killed an hour and a half of the afternoon and kept everyone excited with changes of scene.

I feel trapped. The weather is horrid, we are stuck in the house and all have a bad case of cabin fever. I can't do any more jigsaws, bake any more cakes, glue any more bits of paper. I'm bored of it. And so are the boys. We want to go and fight dragons in the woods, track dinosaurs, practice throwing and run down hills too fast.

Think I might go shout at some Bosnian officials later. It won't do any good but it might help me rid myself of some intense frustration.

******* Update *********

Just when I thought I couldn't get any grumpier... the circuit in the kitchen keeps fusing which is shorting the radio and FAR more seriously is preventing the kettle from brewing a cup of tea. And it's snowing. I am officially cross. There might be stomping involved and behaviour of which my 3 year old is embarrassed.

Sticky Fingers Gallery: Beauty

2010-03-03T11:15:00.002+01:00

That ever so clever Tara over at Sticky Fingers has had a fantastic idea that really appeals to me.

"Every week I will give you a prompt, an idea, a notion and you go out and take a photograph using that prompt. Or just use a photo you already have.

The prompt could be one word, an object, an idea, a phrase, anything, and you have to post a picture which you feel represents that prompt.
Post it on your blog and write about it."

This weeks theme is beauty. Here's my entry:

I've chosen it because of the light, the colours and the way that, on a dank and depressing, drizzly March day it is making me feel golden.

This was taken last November in the midst of one of the most beautiful Autumns I can remember. We were walking in Zlaca, an area about 45 minutes outside of Tuzla (near Banovici). There was noone else there, we picnicked, the dog swam, we climbed hills, we enjoyed the clear skies and golden colours. It was a beautiful day.

Knowing where we are

2010-03-01T09:48:00.000+01:00

When we getting ready to come out to Bosnia we looked into the possibility of getting a GPS system for the car. Or more accurately Dave looked into it, being a fully signed up technophobe I muttered something about being able to map read just fine thank you and what a waste of money.

Anyway, at the time it turned out that Bosnia was a bit of a black hole GPS-wise. Perhaps it was the abundance of military bases which made it difficult for them to put the information on the map. Perhaps it was the mountainous terrain. I have no idea. But what happened was you would be piling along the road in Croatia with lots of info, turn right to go into Bosnia and nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. According to GPS when you enter Bosnia you have fallen off the end of the world.

The technophobe in me loves this. I hate GPS. I love maps. I like trying to develop my sense of direction using my own noggin. It isn't difficult in Tuzla. Tuzla is a city in a valley. You are either going east-west along the valley floor or up the hills in a northern or southerly direction. Sure the roads on the hills get a bit random and windy but you usually come out somewhere you know. As long as you don't hit the dirt tracks at which point it is time to turn around and come back down again.

Last night we went to some friends for dinner. They were fresh back from Italy bearing cheeses, wines, meats, chocolates. It was a gourmet extravaganza and we celebrated the fine foods by drinking far too much fine prosecco and chianti. Weaving our way home was taking far too long so we decided to get a cab back.

Readers, Bosnia has arrived. For the cab had GPS. And not just a GPS for show either. It worked. With all the roads and everything. Not that the journey home is especially difficult, nor I imagine are any of the routes the cabbie takes. But he had his GPS on. And Bosnia takes another step towards catching up with the rest of Europe.

Dear So and So: Bosnian edition, part IX

2010-02-26T08:56:00.001+01:00

Oh, I have a few things to take aim at today. My pencil is sharp and I am ready to go!

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Dear Bosnian Visa Authorities,

We can't renew the registration of our car until we have our visas. Which means that whilst our visa renewal application is STILL sitting in the pile of paper on your desk we can't use our car. This makes me housebound, tetchy and in the mood for a fight. Sort it out or I'm coming over to get rid of some pent up frustration.

Growl,
Fraught Mummy

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Dear Bosnian Car Authorities,

Please tell me that you are joking. Every car has to have a new set of licence plates (often with a new number) every year? Has anyone ever spoken to you about efficiency, conservation, general use of common sense?

Yours, still not knowing how to take a licence plate off our car because we've never had to do it before,
FM

PS - we have to start the process of exporting the car in March. Any chance we could have it imported before then otherwise we are all going to tie ourselves into terrible knots.

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Dear Bosnian branch of a fairly major European bank,

Surely supplying bank guarantees is part and parcel of your day to day operations? Isn't that what banks do? And even if it isn't, why is it that you can't supply one for 2 weeks just because the manager has gone on holiday? Ever heard of picking up the phone to ask someone else how to do it?

Gah!
FM

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Dear Nursery,

I don't really approve of how much TV the children watch during their time there, but I do see that you use it constructively so I'm not really complaining. I didn't really approve of you asking everyone to contribute 20KM towards the cost of the TV and DVD player. But all that pales into insignificance compared to how gob smacked I am that said TV and DVD player has disappeared, rumoured by the other mothers to have been taken by the head of the nursery.

Yours, wondering why you don't use your own salary to buy your own TVs,
FM

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Dear parents of the Roma kids begging at traffic lights,

I don't have a problem with the way in which you choose to live your life. If you want to stand outside in freezing temperatures hoping for 1KM from the odd car, that is your choice. I do however have a problem with the fact that you children are also hanging out at the traffic lights during times when they should be at school. Give your children an education, then allow them to make a decision what they want to do with their lives.

FM

*********************************

Dear Boys,

Temperatures. Coughs. It's the first illness we've had in months and you are being pretty brave about it. If we could just fight a little less about who is going to play with the pirate ship that would be tops.

Yours, administering to your fevered brows,
FM xx

**********************************

Dear Jess,

We don't have a car, so we can't drive to any of the places we usually walk you. We can't take you in a taxi either, so apologies but it is walks on the lead around here for the moment. I do appreciate this makes for a very boring life, trust me we are as keen to get the car back as you are. However, repeated break outs of the garden to go scavenging in the local bins are not welcome and also make you sick. Stop it, or you will be tied up 24/7 like all the other dogs round here.

Yours, in the hope of one day being a top dog in this household,
FM

**********************************

Dear Banja Luka,

I haven't been to visit for a couple of years and I had forgotten what a pleasant city you are. One question though. Your new government buildings, the ones big enough to house the entire state of Luxembourg and half the UN, seem a little, well, large for what you need them to do. I mean, how many government officials does one statelet need?

Yours, seeing that the ethos of bloated governance runs strong in the Republika Srpska as well as the Federation,
FM

*********************************

Dear playground,

Now that the snow has gone is there any chance you could open soon? The boys haven't seen a swing for months. And I'm fed up with them substituting our book cases for climbing frames.

In grateful thanks (and with just a modicum of begging)
FM

************************************

Dear Little Brother,

Your Radio 4 comedy show is GREAT. I'm ever so proud of you, again. Much as it pains me to admit it, you being a right royal pain in the proverbial and all that, but you are most talented.

Yours, knowing that there had to be an upside for all the irritants suffered earlier in life,
Big Sis.

PS - for anyone interested, the show is called Earls of the Court, is a 15 minute 'gentle comedy' about Australians in the UK. You can catch it here. And it isn't just me as the biased big sister who likes it, it's had good reviews too.

**************************

Anyone else interested in having a go? Pop over to Kat's 3 Bedroom Bungalow and sign up so we can all come and read them. Better than therapy, seriously.

Today I went to Banja Luka ....

2010-02-24T21:35:00.001+01:00

.. and saw this sign

Look and learn Tuzla, look and learn.

Wintertime picnics

2010-02-22T09:49:00.000+01:00

Tuzla isn't a big city. It is quite easy to get out of the urban sprawl and up into the hills for some lovely walks and amazing views. One of our favourite spots is up behind the Skver (which is confusingly a roundabout, the laws of which will be a topic for a whole post of its own). We follow the road up, past the houses onto the ridge of a hill. Up here there are more houses are to be found, but these are of the weekend variety. A place where those from Tuzla can come to grow orchards and tend to their vegetables. The houses can be amazing, in fact one is so lovely that I am almost consumed with jealousy everytime I see it. Some are more simple, but all have that most important of things, a place to barbeque (or rostilj). The getting together of lots of people to eat large quantities of meat and drink large quanitities of beer and sljivavica (plum brandy to the uninitiated amongst you) before singing songs about true loves that have abandoned you are a major part of the Bosnian culture.

We usually park the car where the paved road finishes and carry on on foot up a path that always looks English to me. Right at the top, on the edge of a ridge someone has put an old table and benches, together with a fire and a pot for brewing coffee. In the summer it is a lovely spot, with 360 views. The owner has recently planted an orchard but no one seems to mind if you stop there for a bit of a picnic.

We were up there the other day, in the snow.

Don't you just love the coffee pot? I'd love to have the confidence to come up here, start a fire and actually brew myself a cuppa, but I'm far too English for that. Instead, we'll just carry on with our impromptu picnics whenever we get up here and just sit back and enjoy the view.

A mistress of spin

2010-02-19T10:18:00.001+01:00

This parenting is a funny old thing. I'm consistently in awe (or rather more accurately slightly scared) of those uber Mummys who have everything under control. You know them, they have whisked up a freshly baked cake, done the ironing and not shouted at their children once that day. The sort of Mummy I'll never be. Well, I can do a cake but the ironing and not shouting thing is well beyond me.

I have however, come to a huge realisation which I feel is going to significantly affect the way I feel about the uber Mummy. Finally, I have realised that it is all about the presentation.

Let me give you an example of a day spent in the Brits household last week to illustrate what I mean.

Up at 7, I took the boys to nursery before settling down to a few hours work at home. Around about 12, I walked over to nursery to pick them up and chatted to the Bosnian Mummys at the nursery gates as the boys played in the playground. On our walk back home we made the most of the snow with snowballs and decided we would make a snow man later. After lunch we had a bit of 'quiet time' as Adam practiced some writing and Luke did some drawing and I prepared a marinade for their supper. Time then to take the dog for a walk in the park. We were out for about 90 minutes or so, the boys returning red cheeked and worn out from all the running about. Decided that we should bake some banana bread together before the boys sloped off to play pirates in the playroom as I cooked dinner. Dave came back from work just as they were finishing supper and he took them upstairs for a bit of a play, father son time type thing, a bath and they finished off the day all clean, tidy, watching a bit of TV in their pyjamas, sipping their milk. Quick story and they were all tucked up and fast asleep.

That's quite an uber Mummy sort of day isn't it? Everything is there: exercise and outdoor time, quiet time, individual play, some form of creativity, play with other children in the morning, cooking from scratch, good bedtime routine. All peaches and cream then in the Brit household.

But although we did indeed do all of the things above, the reality of the day was far more like this

Luke got up at 5.30am. I got into bed with him to try and keep him in bed until 7. It was a long 90 minutes, during which I was regularly battered over the head with a toy car and had to remove his fingers from my nose on more than one occasion. Once everyone was up, the battle to get everyone dressed for nursery commenced. Adam is supposed to be dressing himself now. He was more interested in running around like a looney trying to irritate his brother. First episode of shouting from me. Finally get them out of the door and towards nursery. Phew.

Come home and attempt to work. Faff around, read some blogs, realise that I've wasted the entire morning and have achieved nothing. My own fault, but irritating none the less, feel cross with myself. Walk over to nursery to pick them up, muttering positive mantras about how I will not shout today and be a better mother and generally less grumpy. Let the boys play for a bit in the little playground the nursery has. Within five minutes chaos has erupted, the boys are snatching each other's toys, trying to hit each other and crying. I attempt to withdraw gracefully, but they do not cooperate about putting on fleeces, coats, hats, boots and the other paraphernalia required to go outside in a Bosnian winter. Finally get out of the nursery, feel that my positive mantras have bitten the dust after a mere 5 minutes.

The walk home is slow, agonisingly, mind bendingly slow. Every pile of snow must be examined. Snowballs are thrown. Faces are hit. Tears are shed. Refusal to hold Mummys hand as we near the big road that must be crossed. They start getting silly, run around screaming. Second shouting episode from me. Tempers are lost and not just mine either.

Finally get the boys back home. Feed them lunch. Get them to sit quietly at the table as I try to make the marinade for dinner. Luke insists on using felt tip pens as missiles. Is really pleased when he remembers if he fires them at the wall when they don't have a cap on, they leave a mark. I stop that activity sharpish and he continues dumping all the pens onto the ground. Adam in the meantime is doing his writing nicely, right up until the point that Luke starts scribbling on his book. General fight. I stick them out of the kitchen, tell them to read a book or something, and finish up as fast as I can.

Head to the park having had yet another battle getting them ready to go out. We appear to be on a go slow by the boys. It takes us about 45 minutes to walk less than 100m. More snowballs thrown, more faces hit, more tears shed. The dog, bored senseless by the snail pace of the group takes off. Is last seen heading to the boundary of the park. I grab the boys and drag them along as we go to try and find her. Surely that isn't her? Breaking into someones house? Oh it is. Leave the boys with instructions to 'STAY THERE', and go and haul her out, apologising with everything I have to the old woman who is rightfully pretty cross at having a great big damp retriever piling into her front room. The boys are LOVING this. They start shouting 'bloody dog', obviously just learnt from me. I thank my lucky stars I was relatively refined with my language, it could have been a lot worse.

I drag everyone home. Am fed up. There are more snowballs, more tears. Everyone cold and wet and pretty miserable. Decide baking is the way forward. Get everything ready, the boys are fighting over who is going to play with Thomas. Leave them to it, rationalise this is all part of them learning how to negotiate. Eventually they come in. We pour out the ingredients. A wooden spoon is waved, a large amount of sticky mess hits the wall. As I pour the ingredients I realise that it doesn't look quite right. Realise too late that one of my little angels has switched the weighing thing from grams to lbs. What I weigh out to be 100g is actually 1.00 lbs which is not the same at all. This has been switched halfway through the process. I have no idea what is right and what isn't. Decide to lob a bit more of what I thought looked a little less than usual in. Stick the goo into the oven.

Too late, I remember that I need the oven to make their dinner. Look at my marinade. Stick it in the fridge for another day. Look in the fridge to see what else we have. Result, I can cobble together another dinner, but it is not one that Adam, a fussy eater to say the least, will eat without a fight. Wonder if I'm up for the fight. Decide that he doesn't have a choice we haven't got anything else to eat. I cook the dinner, they play (pretty nicely, bless them). Dinner is served. Anticipated fight begins and goes on for a while. I forget to take the banana bread out. The sticky goo is now burnt sticky goo. They have it for pudding anyway.

Just as they are finishing, Dave comes home. We all shout 'DADDY!' with relief. I hiss at him that I've had enough, he has to take them up for a bath RIGHT NOW. He gives me a look that says 'but they are being such angels'. I scowl, stick my hackles up and start growling. Besides, I still have to clean up the sticky goo mess.

Do the washing up in peace and quiet and listen to Radio 4. Feel a lot less stressed. Sounds like they are all having a wonderful time upstairs. Head up to join in stories. Realise that a tornado has hit. Every single bed has been stripped and the sheets are draped all over the cupboards. The question 'what are you doing???!!!' was met with a simple 'we're making camps'. I growl a bit more about the sense of doing this right before bedtime and remake all the beds. Then, at last, after what seems like the longest afternoon on earth, they are in bed and entering the land of nod.

Downstairs for a large glass of wine. And possibly another large glass of wine. And a reflection that this uber Mummy thing is probably all in the way that you present the activities. Spin it right and I too could look competent. So now, when I'm confronted with someone talking about all the amazing things that they do with their children all day everyday, I remember that from the outside, my days could look like that too. More importantly, I've realised that their days are probably very like mine in reality. Somehow that makes me feel a lot better.

Accidentally causing offence

2010-02-18T09:59:00.002+01:00

Why is it that when learning a new language, the only words that are easily remembered are the swear words? Which means of course that you are left with a load of ways to be rude to people, admittedly helpful whilst driving in Bosnia but not ideal when you are trying to exchange pleasantries and ingratiate yourself into the nursery gate club.

The thing that I have noticed is that not only do I know the swear words, but I frequently get them muddled up with other, every day words. So I’ll be chattering away, massacring their language in a very British way with everyone smiling indulgently at my efforts and then, suddenly, their eyebrows fly through the roof and I realise that once again my Bosnian Tourettes syndrome has struck.

In particular there are 3 pairs of words that I cannot get straight in my head. First up are the words for eat (jede) and fuck (jebi). I’ll be chattering away and in my head, as I’m approaching the point at which I want to say ‘eat’ my mind will go blank and all I can do is think jede/jebi? Jede/jebi? Panicked I usually plump for the wrong one.

Then there is the write/piss combination (pisati/pišati (pronounced pishati)). This one is further confused by the fact that when conjugating the verb (ooo, get me, a real life linguist using words like conjugating and verbs as if I know what that means) they merge into each other. Pisati becomes pišem (pishem – I write) which just is remarkably similar to pišam (prounounced pisham meaning I piss).

My last set of words that I cannot get straight in my head is probably the worst. I want to say that we walk. This is something that we do a lot of, I mean we have a dog and there isn’t much else that I can do with 2 small boys that is guaranteed to tire them out. So we walk every day. Without fail. Come rain or shine. And every day I normally have to say to someone that we are going to go for a walk. The verb for walk is šetati (shetati). What I always find myself saying is ševiti (shjeviti). I still don’t know what it means, but when I say it people gasp, cover their mouths, widen their eyes and I know I’ve strayed into the really offensive territory, yet again.

We all know that it is easy to accidentally offend, especially in these days of remote communication. Messages sent by email, twitter etc. don't have the body language to allow the recipient to see that it was not intended the way in which it came across. It just so happens that I don't need to be remote to cause accidental offence and I need the body language so that people can see my foul mouth is just a combination of a mind going blank (again) and a complete inability to rise above being given the leaway to be able to swear in polite society and get away with it.

Sunshine and Cake

2010-02-17T09:31:00.005+01:00

Sunshine and cake. Does life get much better? If only there was a bit more sunshine and cake going on around here. The sunshine factor is significantly lacking, our lives more dominated by snow, ice, grey, ice, snow, ice, slush, ice, slipping, ice (do I need to continue?). And there is never enough cake.

So I was thrilled to be given a few awards full of sunshine and full of cake to brighten up my day.

So thank you Young and Younger and Battleplan for my sunshine award

and thank you to Fanciful Alice for this cake award

The rules for these are pretty straightforward, mention the blogger who awarded it to you and select a few other bloggers to pass it onto. But, I don't know who has what, so I'm awarding the award of their choice to the following:

Balancing Books whilst Herding Cats (don't you just think that is one of the best blog names ever?)
Footballers Knees (another contender for best blog name ever)
Young and Younger
BattlePlan
E Ora?
Tattie Weasel
Single Parenthood: Tales from the Frontline
mostleast (who is giving up impatience for Lent, how brave is that?!)
Bitchin Wives Club
Lady Mama
Notes from Lapland
Mummy Do That!
Very Bored in Catalunya
Diapers & Dragons

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The latest Best of British Mummy Bloggers Carnival is up at Alpha Mummy - head over there for 25 posts of all different aspects of being a parent.

Olympic spirit

2010-02-15T10:00:00.001+01:00

Watching the Winter Olympics (or as Dave put it, 'the celebration of how many different ways you can slide about of some form of frozen water') has become the new favourite pastime in the Brit household. Mainly because watching the female speed skaters makes me feel a lot better about the size of my thighs, which is no mean feat, but it is also the one show in which my husband will join in the 'what on earth are they wearing?!?' conversation. We're finding it compulsive. For the record, the Canadian female speed skating outfit with the cling film effect around the tops of their legs was unanimously voted NOT GOOD.

As a Brit there is really only one defining winter Olympic moment. It might, in fact, be our only Winter Olympic moment, but it is a great one. In 1984 the ice dancers, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, clad in purple floated their way through their Bolero routine and to a perfect score for artistic impression, a feat yet to be equalled. I just watched it again, it is still wonderful.

The 1984 Olympics were considered to be a great triumph. They were feted for their diversity, their encompassing nature and lived up to the Olympic ideals of competition without politics, religion or racism. The residents of the host city were celebrated for their kindness and generosity.

The venue?

Sarajevo.

8 years later the city was under seige, the Olympic venues were destroyed, the ski slopes and luge runs were mined, the seats in the stadiums used to make coffins for those killed during the conflict.

So much for a lasting Olympic spirit.

Catch Me If You Can...

2010-02-12T19:34:00.000+01:00

... for I'm off a-wandering the blogosphere. That very lovely BabyRambles has just been over to interview me for her regular Friday Blogger on the Spot feature. We checked into a 4 star hotel (yes, there is one in Tuzla, oh disbelievers), grabbed a coffee, watched the Bosnians strutting their most finest stuff and had a right old natter*. And the resulting interview has just been posted, so go and have a read over there. What are you still doing here?

*ok, in reality we might have just been quite active on the email front, but it could have happened. Bosnia isn't that far from the UK - a 2 1/2 hour flight. Almost doable in a day! Although probably not with her 2 toddlers and baby in tow.

Cultural Confusions part 1: The Bosnian Grannys and me.

2010-02-11T10:19:00.008+01:00

Being an English family in Tuzla we are fairly conspicuous. There aren't very many English families in Tuzla. In fact, I think it is just us. As such, there isn't a big expat circle to become a part of. Whilst this does occasionally make things more difficult, on the whole I prefer it this way. It meant that I didn't have any options, I had to get stuck in and involved in Bosnian life and this has, by and large, been wonderful. Bemusing most of the time, but pretty fun.

In particular it has bought me into regular contact with that very specific breed of Bosnian, the Granny. The Bosnian Granny (henceforth known as the BG) is a force to be reckoned with, particularly in any queue in the post office. Generally fairly sturdy and well wrapped up whatever the weather, nothing escapes her beady eye. Absolutely nothing. If there was ever to be a World Championships in gossip, the BG would win. Hands down. The rest of us, skilled as we may think we are in being able to pass on information about other people, are mere amateurs, school children in comparison. The BGs talk about everything, from the clothes you wear, to the time you go to bed, the behaviour of your children, to how they don't like to gossip but..., to how often you throw out your rubbish. There is nothing they don't know. We are obvious targets to speculate about and apparently they are fascinated by us. But I know that we are far from the only people being discussed, so it doesn't really bother me that much. They are enormously generous, always asking us over, stuffing us with food, never letting us go home without a bottle of homemade grape juice, some cake, a bit of pie and no doubt then analysing in detail how well my boys ate their food, our manners and how different we are.

I come into contact with the BGs a lot. Bosnian culture remains very family orientated. Many people continue to live at the same place as their parents/in laws after they get married, the Bosnians simply building another apartment as another story on top of their houses. Sometimes I envy this; the family all gets together for a coffee in the morning; aunts, uncles, other children all pitch in together for a big melee of people to hang out with. There's always someone around. What it does mean though is that the BG is often very actively involved in childcare, whilst the Mums go out to work. So the nursery gates are full of BGs gathered to chitchat whilst waiting for their grandchildren. They always involve me in their conversations; I don't often have much of an idea what they are talking about. They then pick up their immaculately dressed grandchild, who trots over straight away, leaving me chasing my two far from immaculate boys, trying to hold one down whilst getting boots on the other and stopping them from dismantling the climbing frame. The BG, who fully subscribes to the point of view that it takes a village to raise a child, has no qualms in stepping in to tell my two off (inevitably leading to tears, my boys not totally comfortable with being grabbed by a woman they have never met before and on the receiving end of a sharp volley of Bosnian). It took me a while to get over the 'leave my children alone' impulse - the English just don't tend to interfere like that. I have had to learn to not take it personally and the boys have learnt that if they run around in the supermarket, a BG will get on their case.

The BG's always have their children wrapped up warmly in layer upon layer of clothes, to me they look absolutely boiling. Mine are fully wrapped up at the moment, it is deep winter after all. But once in warms up, I don't tuck their tops into their trousers and they wear as few layers as I can get away with; my washing machine stuggles enough with the laundry pile as it is. The BGs look on at my boys in horror. 'That child is naked' one BG memorably hissed at me. 'Which child?' I wondered? Mine was the only child in the vicinity. His top wasn't tucked in. Ah, that will be my child then.

Then there is the chocolate issue. No BG is ever to be found without a bar of chocolate hidden in her bag, to be bought out whenever in contact with any children. My two, for who chocolate is a rare treat, love this aspect of Bosnian culture. They are present in a flash, suddenly all beautifully behaved, looking like little angels and waiting to be given the next sugar laden candy. Being the one who then has to deal with the inevitable sugar rush and less than angelic manic behaviour that will always follow, I'm less of a fan of this custom. However, I recently had a 'eureka' moment of understand finally realising that this chocolate thing is just a part of the BG assessment of my parenting. Usually in these situations I become very English and end up muttering something like 'gosh, thanks, how generous', wait until the BG is out of sight and then confiscate the enormous bar of chocolate from the boys sticky, sugary hands. I now realise that the correct response is to say, even insist, to the BG that the boys are not to be given chocolate and prevent the kids (despite protestations from the BG to the contrary) from laying their little paws on it. I only realised this the other day, when one particular BG who is a right terror for dishing out the candy and therefore adored by my boys, happened to bring her own grandson along. He was offered chocolate. She didn't let him have any. They offered again, she took it away. There was no way that this BG was going to let any chocolate anywhere near her precious boy's hopeful mouth. 'It isn't good for him' she offered to me as an explanation, leaving me spluttering and open mouthed in shock.

Ah hah, I thought, now I get it. So now there's a bar of chocolate that has taken up residence permanently in my pocket for the next time I meet them. I'll make sure the little boy gets some. I might even stop him running around the supermarket and untuck his top whilst I'm at it. Heh heh heh.

Not here today, over there instead

2010-02-09T09:55:00.001+01:00

Today I'm dodging flash photography and wondering whether my shades will do an adequate job in covering up my jet lagged eyes as I dodge the media scrum at Heathrow. Oh, ok, not quite. But I have been interviewed as for the Favourite Mummy Blogger spot for the My Child website - so go and have a read here. I'm off for a read as I'd had a few glasses of wine when I was answering the questions so I've no idea what rubbish I've been prattling on about. Ah hem.

Of mosques, medresas and beer

2010-02-08T11:29:00.000+01:00

Given that we live less than 20 metres from a mosque, I am embarrassed at how little I know about the Islamic religion and practices. But it has struck me that the Bosnian way of being a Muslim isn't anything like the impressions of Islam that you can get from the media.

Bosnia's Muslim community is a legacy of the Ottoman occupation and as such, the Bosnian Islamic tradition echoes that of Turkey. It is the most Western country to have a (narrow) Islamic majority and the only European country apart from Turkey to have such a preponderance of Muslims.

Having said that, the Muslims here appear to have found their own way to practice their religion, which seems far removed from the Middle East. Here the mosques are small, intimate, cosy affairs. Not for the Bosnians the ritzy, glitzy, enormous buildings occasionally seen further east. Drinking alcohol is common amongst the Muslims here, a beer, some sljivovica, all quite normal almost expected.

Nor are the women covered up. In all my time here (approaching 3 years in total) I have only ever seen 2 women that have been fully covered, one in Tuzla, the other in the airport in Sarajevo and they really stood out. Quite a few women do wear headscarves. But in the rural areas, older women tend to wear headscarves whether they are Muslim, Catholic or Orthodox and seldom have I seen a rural younger woman in one. In the cities the younger Muslim girls often do wear headscarves and appropriate dress and my goodness me do they look glamorous. But many Muslim girls do not and there is no tension surrounding their decision. One look at the lakes in Tuzla in the summer and you will understand that this is a region that leans far more towards Europe than conservative Islam: the bikinis on display are spectacular.

There is a Medresa school in Tuzla (in other words, an Islamic school) as there are throughout Bosnia. But these Medresas are not the fundamentalist schools that concern people in other countries. The Tuzla Medresa is acknowledged to be one of the top schools in Tuzla, and runs regular courses during the summer which are attended by students of all religions and backgrounds. Friends of mine who teach there talk about how exceptional the facilities are.

That is not to say that there are no radical Islamists in Bosnia. There is an extremist sect, the Wahhabi, who number about 4,000 in total, but they tend to live in remote villages. Last week, one such village was raided by the Bosnian police and several of its members were arrested on suspicion of planning to use force to bring about change in the constitutional order. But the Wahhabi are unusual in Bosnia, in reality they probably number less than the number of extremist Muslims in the UK. They are closely watched by the police and many of the Bosnian Muslims make efforts to distance themselves from them.

Most of my Muslim friends are Muslim in the way that I am Christian. In other words, it informs my cultural background and heritage, but the actual practicing of the religion? Well that is probably best described as patchy. Here mosques say that people come during Ramadan, but outside of that, not so much. Perhaps on a Friday. Or for a funeral. They know how to pray, much as I can recite the Lord's prayer without too much trouble. They seem to pick up the aspects of religion that they want, when they want and put them to one side when it doesn't suit them. Another friend of mine put many Bosnian Muslims attitude towards their religion well - 'we'll never make good Muslims' he said 'we like too much being able to drink beer and chase scantily clad women'.

I find it fascinating that a European country has developed its own Islamic traditions and is happy that they are able to be both European and Muslim with no tensions in that. When a country that has a tolerant reputation such as Switzerland, votes to ban minarets being built and other countries are struggling with the juxtaposition of Islam in Europe, could it be that the continent should be looking to Bosnia to learn some lessons about how being Muslim and being European are not concepts that are mutually exclusive?

Food that shouldn't taste this good

2010-02-05T10:13:00.001+01:00

Sometimes a situation leads to something becoming so much greater, more pleasurable than it actually is. To clarify with an example: when you have spent a few hours tramping up a cold wet mountain, the piece of melted chocolate that has solidified in an odd shape with all the weird white streaks that previously melted chocolate has will be the most delicious piece of chocolate you have ever eaten. Swiss chocolates have nothing on this squashed bit of Dairy Milk.

I had an example of this the other day. I had to go to Zvornik, a town right on the border about an hour's drive from Tuzla. This isn't normally a problem; I go to Zvornik quite a lot. It is a bit like hopping on the M4 to for a couple of exits, except it is more like the B4324. It's quite a pretty route, and just before you get to Zvornik you go through a range of forested hills and then you emerge, blinking, to see the Drina river flowing gently north and the Drina Valley stretching out before you.

This week it has been snowing, as is quite normal in February here. Everyone is equipped to deal with the snow so all the cars have winter tyres and carry snow chains by law, and pretty much everyone has a couple of rugs and emergency bits of food kept around their car somewhere. Just in case. Last year we forgot about our secret stash under the passenger seat and discovered it half way through the summer when the temperatures were 40C plus and all the chocolate had melted.

On this particular evening we had been to Zvornik and were on our way home. It had already been a long afternoon, much coffee had been drunk which was making me a little more jittery than desirable. I was looking forward to getting home for some supper and a cosy glass of wine in front of an episode of The Wire, but it had started snowing again. The road hadn't really been gritted and it was very slippery. We could barely see out of the windscreen and were having to drive at about 15 mph. We were in the hills and it was very dark. Occasionally a car would flash past, a bus even came thundering around the corner at one point, but everyone was taking it pretty carefully and there were very few cars around. It's difficult to see the lines on the road at the best of times, but covered with snow it was impossible. Couldn't see the edge of the road either. We were moving so slowly that it wasn't really scary, more an acceptance that this journey home was going to be a long, dark, snowy slog. We carried on edging our way through the mountains, right up to the point we lost our grip on the road and the car set off on a gentle pirouette and turned a graceful 360.

We were lucky, nothing was on the road and we didn't come off it. We were going so slowly that we were not physically in danger but it would have been a real disaster if we'd slipped off the road and not been able to get on it again. We edged off again, taking it really carefully. But the combination of far too much coffee earlier and a lunch time that was now a distant memory and I was starting to feel a bit faint and in dire need of some food. A search of the car proved fruitful. I had been given a few days before some zeljanica (spinach pie) made by a friend's mother, complete with feta cheese. I'd eaten them hot, they had been wonderful, but that was a couple of days earlier. Now they were freezing cold. But they were without a doubt the most wonderful, delicious, satisfying meal I'd ever eaten. A small piece of me flew to heaven for a little while as we pulled over and sat munching on our stale spinach pie.

We set off again. It took us approaching 3 hours to get home. But I will never forget how wonderful it was to be sitting on the side of the road eating good, although not quite how it should have been served, food.

How about you? What food that shouldn't be good somehow became a deliciously memorable meal because of the situation you were in?

Shiny Happy Things

2010-02-04T09:56:00.003+01:00

I'm getting progressively more hopeless at keeping up with my blogging etiquette. I've been tagged hither and tither and I can't remember who tagged me or what for. So, in a vain attempt to try and get back on top of it all, I'm sort of doing a meme that I look the look of, but can't remember if I've been tagged for it or not.

But first apologies to Muddling Along Mummy who wanted to see pictures of my wedding dress as part of the wedding dress meme - I've looked but it appears that we didn't bring any pictures of our wedding out to Bosnia with us. Can't think why as it was a cracking day and we had a wonderful time and I blogged more about it on our 5th wedding anniversary last October.

Then a big thank you to Gooner Jamie at the Life and Times of a HouseHusband (if you haven't read his blog go and do so immediately, it is brilliant and will make you laugh) for a tag for something, you are going to get an entry to Rosie Scribbles Shiny Happy Things - because that is what I feel like today. You have to blog about something that always makes you smile, makes you happy.

I like nothing more than a real feel good movie and Mamma Mia was right up my street, I adored it. I made my culture snob brothers watch it last Christmas Eve, I don't think they have forgiven me yet. But, not happy with inflicting pain and misery on them, I have now taken to playing it to my boys to encourage them to release their inner Abba, to not feel silly about leaping around the room looking ridiculous. Adam has clearly got some taste and rolls his eyes every time I put the DVD on. Luke, bless his cotton socks, humours his mother and does all the moves, from pointing at the screen, to the air guitar riffs and whooping with appreciation. The song we all like the best is Dancing Queen. And even my super cool 4 year old, lounging in disdain on the chair, will laugh as Julie Walters gets stuck sliding down the bannisters. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Dancing Queen and defy you not to smile at least once whilst you are watching it.

I've also been tagged by Sandy at Baby Baby in the welcome people meme, so I'm sort of mixing and matching and am going to tag a few blogs that are new to me, and encourage everyone to go and have a read of them too.

Last of the Mojitos
Mothers Ruin
Chic Mama
Mum's Gone To....
No Wine on Wednesdays
Young and Younger

I know I'm missing some tags. In particular I feel that Laura at Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy tagged me, but I can't find it. So really, I apologise if I've missed you out, a sign of a brain addled by too much indoor time with 2 energetic boys. Where's that DVD player, it must be time to make them dance to Abba again. YOU CAN DANCE! YOU CAN JIVE! HAVING THE TIME OF OUR LIFE DO DO DOOOOO

Take a moment for a coffee

2010-02-02T10:44:00.001+01:00

Take some good coffee (Doncafe, the red packet being my preferred version, I am far too much of a wuss to go for the super strong green packet) and a Bosnian coffee maker thing that has a name but it escapes me right now.

Put one tablespoon per person into the coffee maker thing

Heat up the coffee a little. When you can smell it add some boiling water

Wait a while, but pay attention. The coffee will soon start to bubble up. If you aren't paying attention it will go all over the hobs.

Take off the heat and add just a tiny bit more water

This will lead to a creamy sort of froth that looks as if you have added milk.

Let stand for a little while. Then pour into a cup

Enjoy.

If you are Bosnian you will have already added a fair amount of sugar at the beginning of the process with the coffee. You can now also dip a sugar cube into the coffee as well, or even a Bosnian Delight (same as a Turkish Delight). Take your coffee over to the computer and head over to Insomniac Mummys Best of British Parent Bloggers Carnival, for a moment of peace.

Purgatory

2010-02-01T09:54:00.008+01:00

I now have my answer for the question that all teenagers hurl at their parents at some point 'What did you ever do for me anyway?'

All last week Adam's nursery has foregone normal morning nursery activities and headed down to the ice rink that opens every winter in Tuzla's central park, Slana Banja. I wasn't sure how he would take to it, he's not a big into making a fool of himself, falling over or doing things that he doesn't already know how to do. Ice Skating ticks all of these boxes, I was not expecting a success. To my enormous surprise he loved it. Adored it. Couldn't wait to get back onto the rink. He harrassed, harangued and battered his beaten down mother over the head until I agreed that we could go en famille at the weekend.

So en famille we did. Outdoor gear on, skates on, a relatively small amount of money parted with (a massive 3KM (£1ish) per person) and we were off. Well, sort of off. More gripping onto the side of the rink in sheer terror (me) as I try to support Luke who is jumping up and down shouting 'wheeeee wheeeee' and then 'faster Mummy faster!' as Dave and Adam disappear gliding gracefully over the ice. Then we swap children, Adam grabs my hand and pulls me straight off balance.

It led to 20minutes of sheer purgatory for me. Holding up Luke who was clearly having the most wonderful time, as we tottered around, it was all I could do to pray I wasn't going to fall down squashing a small child and slicing off his fingers in the process. That position, the slightly hunched over incredibly uncomfortable one known to all mothers, is a killer on the old, not too good at the best of times, back. The cold toes, the crippling boots, the aching muscles, good Lord I hated every minute. The boys adored it, can't wait to do it again. Obviously, we will go again. But I will remember this, and when they ask me what did I ever do for them in that teenage-ery huffing pouting fashion, I'll be able to say - I took you ice skating.

Dear So and So: Bosnian Edition Part VIII

2010-01-29T09:25:00.003+01:00

I've been sharpening my pencil over the past couple of weeks and I've got plenty to say. So here are the postcards that I wish to write to all and sundry.

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Dear Next Door Neighbour,

We have repeatedly asked you not to feed our dog. She gets fed enough at home and doesn't need any more. But as you insist on doing so, we can't take responsibility for the fact that she now has now learnt that if she sits outside your window and barks she will get more food. Stop feeding her, she'll stop barking.

Yours, hoping to not have to put the dog on another diet,
Fraught Mummy

PS - that pink shirt and shoes combo are a striking look.

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Dear Bank, Car Importers, various municipality officials and anyone else who requires a stamped piece of paper,

I can't even start this postcard. I'm thumping my head on my keyboard and crying with frustration. Surely it can't be this time consuming? There must be an easier way!

Yours, as cross as ever,
FM

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Dear Slana Banja,

As ever, the ice rink is looking great. Now the snow has finally arrived it looks like something out of a movie. We're looking forward to a bit of a skate this weekend.

Thanks for putting it together,
FM x

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Dear Nursery,

I'm totally LOVING the idea of an ice-skating week. So is Adam. It is genius. I think the British education is missing a trick. When you are 4, it is far more enjoyable to spend the mornings learning how to skate than doing writing drills.

FM x

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Dear operators of the lung x-ray machine in the Dom Zdravija

My friend and I were wondering... do you have to recalibrate the machine to take into account the black layer of coal dust and general winter grime that must coat the lungs of every Tuzla resident?

Hack hack
FM

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Dear hacking cough that is sitting in my lungs,

Enough already. You've been here for quite long enough. I'm not a smoker, I don't deserve to sound like a 60 a day one. Now go away.

Yours, overdosing on the cough mixture,
FM

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Dear other neighbour,

I know that you lift up a part of the fence, push your dog into our garden, wait for him to do his business before calling him back out. I've seen you do it. It is disgusting. It is also something that you are embarrassed about because every time you see me you look shifty. Can you take you dog to the green area over the road, and, novel concept here, could you pick up his poo when he is done? It's called responsible dog ownership.

Yours, fed up beyond belief of picking up the poo of dogs that I don't own from our garden,
FM

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Dear boys,

Um, this wrestling phase? How long is it going to go on for? A friend of mine who is one of two boys says it could last about a decade, maybe longer. Can I suggest that that might be a bit long for me? At the very least, could we learn that Mummy doesn't do wrestling? Or pretty much any other female come to think of it.

Your more into the hugging and kissing,
Mummy xx

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Dear Tuzla municipality authorities,

Tuzla is situated on top of a salt mine. There is no way you can ever run out of grit to salt the roads. It is an impossibility. So could you get on with gritting the roads, we're slip sliding all over the place here.

NaCl-ly yours,
FM

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Dear self,

The Bosnians are bought up to drink coffee. They don't react to the massive caffeine dose in the same way that your poor, unaccustomed body does. So, they can drink coffee in the evening and still go to sleep. If you drink coffee with everyone else you will be awake all night. It is not as if there aren't a wide range of teas available, and you do know that the rosehip tea is lovely.

How many times do we have to go through this before you learn?
FM

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Dear EUFOR (the European military forces in Bosnian)

I was feeling pretty safe in Bosnia. Right up until the point that you plastered the city with posters saying Bosna je sigurnan (Bosnia is Safe/Secure). You see, if you are feeling the need to tell me that Bosnia is safe, then I'm immediately concerned. Countries that are safe don't need to say it.

Yours, wondering if you should be rethinking this poster campaign,
FM

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NB: I know that quite a few of the Bosnian words here aren't spelt correctly, any Bosnian readers please put me right.

Fancy a go? Head on over the 3 BedRoom Bungalow in Crazy Town and make sure you add your name to the list so we can come and read them.

Could It Happen Again?

2010-01-27T09:58:00.006+01:00

January 27th is the World Holocaust Memorial Day, a day on which we are asked to take the time to reflect on what can happen if racism, prejudice and exclusionary behaviour are left unchecked and unchallenged. Whilst the Holocaust is a specific event tied to Nazi persecution during World War 2, the organisers also ask that we take a moment to remember the victims of subsequent genocides in Cambodia, Rwanda and Bosnia as well as the ongoing atrocities in Darfur.

The events in Srebrenica will never fail to shock, particularly if a human face is put to the suffering. I came across this video by the Bosnian HipHop artist, Genocide, on the Srebrenica Genocide Blog. As a young boy Jusuf had to leave his home town of Zvornik, some 45 minutes from Srebrenica, having watched the previously multi-ethnic city filled with mosques and churches be cleansed of the entire Bosnian Muslim population. He became a refugee and today lives in New Zealand. He has given permission for his song to be downloaded for free in order that he can help keep the message about this genocide current in the worlds memory. It is an excellent song in its own right and well worth a listen. Please do so, and in that time spare a thought for those killed and those who remain, so affected, so destroyed.

(further testimonies from Srebrenica survivors and those who were involved in the events of July 1995 were collected and published by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington DC and can be viewed on the Srebrenica Genocide Blog here)

There are toys and then there are toys

2010-01-25T10:06:00.013+01:00

One of the blogs that I always enjoy reading is Big Beluga Baby. Gail is a mum of 3 (soon to be 4) living in Almaty in Kazakhstan. She came back to the UK recently to await the birth of her baby and has been writing some brilliant posts about coming back to England from somewhere like Kazakhstan. One that I enjoyed the most recently was about the levels of health and safety in the UK, particularly regarding toys (and do go and have a read of it here as it is worth it).

It wasn't until we came to Bosnia that I realised how good the quality of the toys are in the UK. For all the warnings about small parts being a choking hazard or toys being flammable, fundamentally the toys are good, won't fall apart immediately and there is a strong legal system which prevents dodgy toys from being widely distributed.

The situation isn't like that here. There are obviously toy shops that sell excellent toys with well known brands easily available. But Lego is expensive at the best of times, add the Bosnian import taxes to that price and it becomes eye wateringly expensive. The average Bosnian income is some 800KM (£300) a month; you can see that most people actually can't afford to buy this type of toy.

So there are the other toy shops, which sell cheaper stuff, but of dubious quality (at best) and often downright dangerous. It makes me so cross, it sometimes seems that there is some big toy maker out there looking at the toys they have in their stock room that are either rubbish or wouldn't pass the health and safety guidelines of the EU and wondering what to do with them. I wonder if they look around and see Bosnia and think - I know what we'll do, we'll send them there, they'll never notice. I'm sure Bosnia has laws to ensure the standards of their toys, but am equally sure these can be easily bypassed. What really gets my goat though is that those Bosnians who can't afford to buy the quality stuff have to buy the substandard toys and that just isn't right. You shouldn't have to be made to buy safety in toys.

To give you an idea of the what I'm talking about I did a quick inventory of the new toys that have entered the household since Christmas to highlight how the toys are dangerous or simply just aren't fit for purpose. It might be helpful to add that at this point, not even a month after Christmas and a mere 3 DAYS after Luke's birthday, not a single present remains fully intact.

1. Electrical Car - present for Luke's birthday on Thursday, already broken. Wires hanging out and circuit board clearly visible.

2. Ben Ten Gun (this is Bosnia, all small boys are given guns, English middle class sensibilities notwithstanding). A laser like light which would definitely damage an eye - so strong that we can see its light on the wall of a house a good 30m away.

(yes, that light on the wall has been through a balloon and is still that concentrated, scary huh?)

3. A train set (interestingly marketed as a Ben Ten train set but clearly Ben Ten actually has nothing to with it apart from being plastered all over the box). The train is only capable of moving on straight bits of track, such a shame that the only tracks that were supplied are curved.

4. Remote Controlled Car which requires batteries. Sadly, a bit of moulded plastic makes it impossible to open the battery compartment so the batteries cannot be put into the car.

5. A gun - (see what I mean about the gun thing?) and when the gun is fired sparks fly out of the gun. Not intentionally either.

6. Two Pirate ships, complete with pirates. They are such perfect replicas of a pirate ship that the keel has not been modified to take into account that it will be played with out of the water, and as such the boats cannot actually stand up on their own. This can, with patience, be sorted out with all forms of plasticine on the base which means the boat will stand up as long as you are gentle with it, not a hope in this household. Here's a picture of one of the boats, plasticine and all (and yes the delicate bit at the front of the boat has snapped off and has a nail sticking out of it).

(You are not dreaming. It really does say 'World Govt' on the sails of this pirate boat. Tickles me every time. Actually there is another sail on which it also says 'World Govt' but it has broken off and I couldn't make it stay on for the millisecond I needed to take the photo.)

By being able to implement strong health and safety laws means that the UK has safe toys. The rule of law isn't so strong in Bosnia, which leads to toy makers being able to dump unsafe and dangerous toys here. As usual, the people most affected are those who can't afford to make the choice to buy safety. Doesn't that just make you seethe?

(PS - for an idea of how toys should be made head over to the Great Toy Guide which has some great toy reviews - and these toys will be made properly and if they do collapse easily will be highlighted by their real life mummy reviewers).

Thoughts on Aid

2010-01-20T10:15:00.006+01:00

One of the best blogs about Bosnia is Tim Clancy's Pure Intent. Tim is the writer of the only Guide Book to Bosnia that I've ever seen, but more importantly is an environmentalist doing his best to keep the Bosnian politicians from destroying the country's most beautiful natural features and writes regular posts sharply criticising the political scene in this country.

But, following the events in Haiti he wrote a post which I found fascinating and am going to quote from here. (and Tim, if by any chance you are reading I hope you don't mind. I can't work out how to comment on your blog to ask permission, and I can't find an email address for you either, if you would rather that I didn't quote please get in touch and I'll take it down)

"Don't know if any of you are following CNN reports....but watch out for Karl Penhaul. On nema dlak na jezik. I love the man for it.

Working in Bosnia, Albania and Kosovo over a span of eight years of war I learned some hard lessons. One of them....a hard one to swallow for me....was the utter lack of coordination and disgusting competitive flagwaving of the UN and the NGO's on the ground.

So many times it seemed as if planting the Unicef or Care or Save the Children flag was more important than helping the victims. The amount of time and resources that goes into PR & 'coordination meetings' often dwarfs that of quality time on the ground.

Karl was setting the record straight. Openly talking about the lack of coordination and fierce competition within the Haitian emergency response. Make no mistake, there are many exceptional people with an inspiring level of dedication and passion for helping others. It has, however, turned into a multi-billion dollar business of the years. And it is the most uncoordinated and unregulated business in the world.

I finally quit in protest after having to leave Kosovo after a death threat. But I must say that the whole business has left a bitter taste in my mouth. These feelings are experiencing a rebirth...knowing all too well how the Haiti situation is being handled.

I know its not easy working in those conditions. I know there is no magic wand. But we have been doing this for decades...and keep making the same unforgivable mistakes time and time again.

When will the humanitarian aid world finally clean its own house? Serious self reflection is in order...and has been for some time. Sadly, in the heat of the moment we often forget our purpose and fail to act with 'pure intent.' "

There's been some amazing fund raising efforts going on and the amount of money raised to help the Haitians is astounding. But it is helpful to examine the role of the aid agencies. Undoubtedly they are doing a difficult job in extremely difficult circumstances, but that doesn't mean that all the aid is being used in a useful fashion.

I've not been in a humanitarian situation, but I have spent time in countries that have recently required the intervention of aid agencies, and I totally agree with much of what Tim says. Humanitarian Aid is an industry and there is fierce competition between the different agencies. The flag waving is quite literal, any programmes are well advertised. You know which agency is where. Even today, 15 years after the end of the conflict here in Bosnia, there is a sign (in English) advertising which agency was involved in rebuilding 15 houses in my neighbourhood. It annoys me everyday.

The UN agency, OCHA (Office for the Coordination for Humanitarian Affairs) is supposed to coordinate the agencies to ensure that they don't replicate their work, tackle the most pressing issues first, are spread through the country and operate to a certain standard) but they are often criticised for not taking a proactive enough role. With the infrastructure of Haiti non-existent, this organisation has a particularly vital role to play. But it isn't as simple as that, being the UN it will be vulnerable to all the political shenanigans that usually accompany any UN activity.

Aid in this situation quickly becomes a commodity. Those who control the aid have power. Those who control access to the aid have power. These people may not be the ones you want to be in control and having power. The conflict in Bosnia was characterised by the profiteers, people who were able to obtain aid packages and then sell them on at hugely inflated prices. Many of these people remain on the shady side of the law today, contributing to the gun/drugs/human trafficking that occurs which continues to destabilise Bosnia and skew its economic development.

Good aid agencies operate to SPHERE standards which mandate that agencies think through carefully the way in which they operate to ensure that their activities do not contribute to the problems Haiti is facing. As Tim says, it is unthinkable really that such a large industry could be so unregulated, uncontrolled and uncoordinated. I will join his call to those on the ground to keep their original intentions to the fore of their actions, and to think clearly about the way in which their aid can impact Haiti's future. And then, when the immediate issues of this emergency are over, to really think about how this industry can be streamlined and coordinated, so that the money it controls is most effectively used to help those who really need it.

(PS - if anyone is interested in any of Karl Penhaul's reports for CNN, they can still be watched here. I'm not usually a CNN fan, but Karl Penhaul is brilliant)

January

2010-01-18T09:54:00.004+01:00

There were all sorts of things I was going to post about today, but I've just got a bit of the January blahs. But a very random blogging connection made through Mother's Ruin introduced me to Henry Dingle's song January, and I'm loving it: have a listen.

Isn't it great? Really hitting the spot for me today. If you want to hear more of his music there are a few tracks to listen to here, his debut album 'The Boy who Never Learned' is coming out soon.

Now if I can just put off going out into the sleet, mud and general January misery for a bit longer...

Bloggers for Haiti

2010-01-17T21:58:00.003+01:00

There is very little more that can be said about the awful situation in Haiti, but to encourage anyone who is thinking of donating to please do so (The Disasters and Emergency Committee is a good place to start, they are an umbrella organisation for 13 of the best known and most able humanitarian agencies from the UK).

If you want to donate for something more specific then please consider contributing towards a shelter box at the Bloggers for Haiti Just Giving Page. Even just a small amounts helps, for added together it all quickly adds up. Set up only yesterday this page has already raised enough for over 3 shelter boxes (at £490 each).

More info:

Shelter
At the heart of every ShelterBox is a ten-person tent. It is custom made for ShelterBox by Vango, one of the world’s leading tent manufacturers, and is designed to withstand extreme temperatures, high winds and heavy rainfall. Internally, each tent has privacy partitions that allow recipients to divide the space as they see fit.

A smile
Every box contains a children’s pack containing drawing books, crayons and pens. For children who have lostmost, if not all,their possessions, these small gifts are treasured.

Warmth and protection
In addition to the tent, the boxes contain a range of other survival equipment including thermal blankets and insulated ground sheets, essential in areas where temperatures plummet at nightfall. Where malaria is prevalent mosquito nets are supplied, as well a life saving means of water purification. Water supplies often become contaminated after a major disaster, as infrastructure and sanitation systems are destroyed, this presents a secondary but no less dangerous threat to survivors than the initial disaster itself.

Self sufficiency
A basic tool kit containing a hammer, axe, saw, trenching shovel, hoe head, pliers and wire cutters can be found in every box. These items enable people to improve their immediate environment, by chopping firewood or digging a latrine, for example. Then, when it is possible, to start repairing or rebuilding the home they were forced to leave.

Fit for purpose
Every item is durable, practical and brand new. The box itself is lightweight and waterproof and has been used for a variety of purposes in the past - from water and food storage containers to a cot for a newly born baby.

A heart to the home
A key piece in every box is either a wood burning or multi-fuel stove - that can burn anything from diesel to old paint. This provides the heart of the new home where water is boiled, food is cooked and families congregate. In addition, there are pans, utensils, bowls, mugs and water storage containers.

Adaptability
We keep a broad range of equipment in stock so we can adapt the contents of a box to a specific disaster. For example, following the Javanese earthquake in 2006, when some resources were available locally or could be salvaged fromone storey buildings, the overwhelming need was for shelter – so we just sent tents, packing two in each box.

Homeward Bound

2010-01-15T10:30:00.007+01:00

Everything has changed now we've made the decision to move back to the UK. Having resisted talking about England as being home, we now talk endlessly about when we go home, being back at home, what it is like at home, what we miss about home. Just making the decision to leave has changed us, from being a part of the country, its cultures and people to being outsiders.

I'm not sure whether it is because of this but suddenly Bosnia is really starting to get on my nerves. Those little niggles of life that irritate are now really winding me up. The on-going bureaucracy and trips to various ministries, handing over the same piece of paper with ever increasing fees is driving us even more demented than usual. I'm sure that the UK has its own labyrinthine bureaucracy for those who aren't UK citizens, but we are so we don't have to experience it. I'm fed up with coming across lost, forlorn stray puppies and dogs all over town. The broken glass in the parks which is just perfect for shredding a dogs paw takes away an awful lot of the enjoyment of going for a walk. The idiots who dump rubbish, car loads of the stuff, in the woods and forests around Tuzla also spoil the afternoon (not to mention the damage that is being done to the environment which will have to be a whole other post). The lack of things to do with children indoors during the winter is stressing me, combined with the fact that the only decent playground in the whole city appears to be permanently shut, and is patrolled by a particularly jobsworth man who won't even let you sneak in to have a swing. Always having to always have large amounts of cash around, because that is usually the only way to pay for anything, whether it be rent, bills, nursery fees, everything is also feeling debilitating, I'd like just to pay by card please. When we arrived we were so positive about Bosnia, so full of enthusiasm for this vibrant country, but suddenly we're feeling ground down by it.

Obviously England is taking on an image of perfection which is going to be cruelly shattered the minute we get back. In the meantime, I am off to try and locate the bits of Bosnia that we love to jolt myself out of this fug of bah humbug and winter blues.

Stories and Songs Meme

2010-01-13T10:17:00.008+01:00

I absolutely love hearing the stories behind the songs that people love; the places it reminds them of, that moment in time that that song will forever bring to life for them. Obviously I have more than a mild obsession with Desert Island Discs and the Inheritance Tracks that they do on Saturday mornings on Radio 4 but I also harbour a secret dream that for my 40th birthday (years to go, people, note the plural) my Mum and Dad will do their own Desert Island Discs for me. I long to hear of the songs that they love, why they love them and what they remind them of and to have those moments bought to life for me.

Anyway, here I am in a blogging blah and needing inspiration. So I thought I'd start a meme. If Tara can goes the reasoning... What I'm after is a song that reminds you of something, that has a story for you. Not necessarily your favourite song or a even a song that you love, but a song that instantly takes you back to that time and place.

To start the ball rolling, I'll show you what I mean:

The year: 2004.

Dave and I were moving back to England from Bosnia, driving back across Europe with our worldly belongings stuffed into the back of our little Renault Clio (this being the pre children era we could get away with a small car). It was April, but still cold. We'd been camping all the way along the coast of Croatia, and had been rained on constantly. The previous night in a campsite across the water from Korcula, we'd put the tent up in a howling gale and Dave had insisted upon cooking dinner on the campstove. I'd been up for a local pizza, but camping mush it had been. The next morning everything was wet. Everything. Tent. Sleeping bags. clothes. The duvet was starting to smell damp and distinctly unpleasant and the car had that musty smell mixed with wet garlic and onions. It was cold. It was chucking it down with rain.

We packed up and set off on our drive in the pouring rain again. About 10.30 I ventured that I would quite like a coffee please. Dave, who well knows what happens if I don't get some caffeine early in the day, concurred and immediately turned the car right. I was impressed. The man obviously knew where a coffee place was. It wasn't looking promising, the Croatian inland was looking pretty bombed out and not like there would be a suitably marvellous coffee place, with sofas, fresh coffee, papers. You know the kind of place I was thinking of. But he had confidence so I believed.

Oh, foolish, foolish girl. We pulled over beside a wall on a very exposed hillside and Dave leapt out, lighting his trusty camping gas stove. The rain was sleeting down, the wind was howling, but that was not to deter him, out came the gas stove windbreak to ensure the flame didn't go out. The water duly boiled and a cup of instant coffee (with powdered milk for good measure) appeared just as a single lonely ray of sunshine hit the car. There was really only one song that could be the soundtrack for that moment and Dave started to sing it. Those of you who remember the Maxwell House Advert in the 1980s will not be surprised to know it was Johnny Nash's - I Can See Clearly Now The Rain Has Gone.

We sang it the whole of the rest of the way from Croatia to Calais. I had to laugh, there was no other option even being the coffee and cafe snob that I am. As Dave said, I do remember this rather disgusting coffee for far longer and with much more fondness than any other cappuccino in any other Croatian cafe.

I married the man for a reason. His addiction to the windbreak for his calor gas stove.

I know there are a few memes going around out there at the moment. But I'd love to read the other stories people have behind some of their favourite songs. Hopefully one or two of this lot, my very favourite bloggers, are not too memed out and have the inclination to take it on and then pass on to a couple of others.

Fanciful Alice
Insomoniac Mummy
Diapers and Dragons
A Modern Mother
Sticky Fingers
Nappy Valley Girl
Not Wrong Just Different
Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em
BabyRambles
Not Supermum
Paradise Lost in Translation
You've Got Your Hands Full
Home Mum of 2 (3 if you count their Dad!)
Perfectly Happy Mum
Motherhood - the Final Frontier
Is there a Plan B?
Moaning Mum
Angels & Urchins
The MadHouse

I keep thinking of more people to add but the list is getting out of control. If you fancy taking on the meme then consider yourself tagged! Just leave me a comment so I can come and read your post.

Not clueless

2010-01-12T10:01:00.005+01:00

English is a funny old language. There are so many phrases that are grammatically correct, but we just never say them.

Yesterday afternoon, I was musing over (ok, I was being dragged by the arm and being encouraged to think about) what had happened to the playmobile pirate's sword. The boys were looking for it and I was muttering darkly that I didn't have a clue what had happened to the sodding thing but it would be certain to turn up piercing my foot shortly. Luke stopped me in my tracks, excitement filling his little face.

'Mummy! I have a clue!'

Why do we not say that more often? Why do we never have a clue, but seldom have one? I think I prefer the toddler take on it. I shall be endeavouring to have a clue more often. It is much more fun that way.

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Victoria, over at It's a Small World After All, is planning a round the world trip with her three children, they have just bought the tickets and everything. Getting into the swing of this travel thing, she is hosting a travelling with children carnival, complete with the horror stories of getting children from a to b with sanity far from intact, clothes vomited on and not enough time to go for a pee without small people opening the cubicle door. There are some brilliant reads, in an oh please let that not happen to me kind of way.

The Great Work Confidence Trick

2010-01-08T09:17:00.007+01:00

An interesting opportunity has appeared. A chance to apply for some short term consultancy work that would be interesting, very useful on my CV, relevant to my own studies, fits into our time scale and pays pretty well. In fact that rare sort of job that ticks every single box.

In the pre-children era I would have been thrilled. I'd have been chomping at the bit, frothing with excitement and desperate to get the job. But today I'm not so gung ho. It would be full time for a few weeks, so the boys would have to go to nursery all day rather than just the mornings. It involves three weeks of being away from home Monday to Friday. Dave has said that he will do the childcare, I am indeed married to a saint, but it is a big ask from me - I'd not be all that happy if he trotted off for that length of time leaving me on my tod. I'd have to miss Luke's 3rd birthday and am having internal debates with myself whether it would be wrong to just move his birthday a few days so it falls on a Saturday rather than a Thursday.

These are all issues often faced by working mothers, and the to work not to work debate seldom seems out of the headlines. Kirsty Young's article in the Telegraph has attracted the most ire recently, but Liz at Living With Kids, Plan B, Blooming Marvelous and Used to be Somebody often muse about the issues of working vs not working and how to achieve some form of balance. It isn't my intention to add to that particular debate here.

What I do want to talk about is a slightly different issue. It's been five years or so since I had a job where someone paid me to do something for them. Since then I have been doing my own research for my studies, but that is all on my own time, effectively for myself and to my own deadlines (although my supervisor may choose to dispute that one). I could be quite flippant and talk about how I'm worried that if I worked in an office now I might try to send colleagues that disagree with me to the naughty step, or how I might hoist anyone foolish enough to raise two hands in the air at the same time onto my hip and wipe their nose for good measure. But the reality is that now I'm being confronted with the possibility that I might have someone paying me to complete some work, I'm scared. I don't know why. The job is well within my capacity. I can do it, not in my sleep for it is more interesting than that, but I have done very similar before. Somewhere in the past couple of years I have lost my confidence in myself outside my role of mother. If truth be known I don't have that much confidence in my role as mother either, but that is best left for a blog post another time.

Pre-babies I had a career. A good one, lots of repsonsibility and decision making. I have degrees (multiple) from excellent Universities. I am doing a PhD for Chrissake! I know that I am totally capable of doing a job. But I do know that most jobs are a confidence trick. Go into them thinking that you can do them and you usually can. Now my confidence is lost, abandoned somewhere between the odd nappy mountain and Annabel Karmel mush making and I am really worried that I won't be able to do a job worth doing anymore.

A big part of me is keen not to go for it, but to take away a warm fuzzy feeling of being asked to apply and then say thanks but no thanks. Childcare and birthdays missed aside, we have a lot to do before we leave in April, without me being pretty much absent for six weeks of that. It would be nice to really enjoy our last few months here, rather than have them whirl past in a manic haze of trying to stay on top of things. But the other part of me is going 'stop being such a wuss! Get your act together and apply for it! It is a fantastic opportunity for you, you won't get another like it'.

After quite a bit of faffing, I did apply for the job (they did ask me to after all). I should hear whether I get it next week. I feel like I'm waiting for the executioners axe to fall.

Favourite Photo of 2009 Meme

2010-01-06T10:36:00.005+01:00

The boys on a beach in the Isle of Wight in May 2009. This photo has been my wallpaper on my computer for a long time and I love it because it is so indescribably English. It makes me think of going paddling in rock pools before heading back to the beach hut for tea and lemon cake. Which is exactly what we did.

I'm really sorry but I can't remember who tagged me for this meme but it started with that Tara from Sticky Fingers so blame her. I've also lost the blogging mojo today and can't find the energy to tag a load of other people to do it so if you fancy participating then consider yourself in.

Skiing in the French Alps vs. Skiing in Bosnia

2010-01-05T10:11:00.003+01:00

Many of you may be unaware that Bosnia has some really great skiing. Olympic standard skiing in fact. Remember Torvill and Dean in a cloud of purple skating to gold medal success in that sea of perfect 6.0s in 1984? That Winter Olympics was in Sarajevo. There are 2 mountains within a 20 minute drive from the centre of Sarajevo that have some excellent skiing.

Having spent Christmas skiing in Sarajevo last year and New Years in the French Alps this year, I feel fairly qualified to judge the two. And as this is my blog and I can do what I want to, that is exactly what I am going to do.

Accommodation

Bosnia: Really very nice. Newly refurbished, all the mod cons, plenty of living space. Exactly what I'd expect on the French Alps. (Ledena Krajlica in Jahorina).

France: Well, ok I guess. Not sure if I expect more from French accommodation, but really it was quite cramped, nowhere near enough living space having crammed as many people as possible into the chalet. Lots of covered over bits (spare beds and mattresses piled into our room, that sort of thing). Kept running out of hot water. More what I'd expect on the Bosnian slopes if I'm being brutally honest.

Skiing

France: Its the Alps. The skiing is amazing and extensive. Les Gets was good for beginners, with some small nursery slopes with small child friendly ropes to pull up slopes (even a not yet 3 year old Lukey managed this one). They also have a few 'magic carpets' to help save parents arms from dragging really quite heavy boys up the slopes.

Bosnia: Not as extensive, but still good. Jahorina also has a nursery slope with a rope lift to hold onto which small children can manage. Recommended that you stay on the slopes if you don't have a guide though, not all the mountains have been fully de-mined yet.

Ski Lifts

Bosnia - rumoured to be having a much needed update. Last time we went they were the old style 2 man, take out the back of your knees, no padding, freeze in the winds as you head up variety. Probably best described as character building.

France - someone told me that some of the French ski lifts are not only covered but are heated! The Bosnians would fall about in hysterical laughter at such levels of wussiness. Not in Les Gets though, but they are padded making it much more comfortable on bottoms and make for an easier getting on and off procedure.

Ski School Teachers

France: 'You want to be taught? By me? But no, I am here so you can follow my pert bottom down the slopes and zen I can look at you with disdain as you do not know how to ski. I might condescend to wave my hand at you to tell you zat was so so. You want actual instruction? Pah (complete with shrug). But come on, you have more admiring of me to do before the end of ze lesson.'

(actually I am being a bit mean. The ski school for the kids was brilliant, once the boys got into the idea of being left there for a morning they learnt a lot and loved it. I'm really talking about the schools for adults here).

Bosnia: Ski school is cheaper. You can afford one-on-one lessons with the lovely Dragan. This is much better for learning. Dragan's sister (a fully qualified nursery teacher) is also available for teaching small children. Don't know much about the group lessons but judging from the ability some of the groups we saw, put money on a Bosnian skiing star emerging in a few years time.

Apres Ski

I have small children. What do I know about Apres Ski? But, the French bars and restaurants all looked pretty great from the outside. The Bosnian ones have very funky cow hide covered benches and welcome kids. And serve homemade blueberry juice.

Celebrity Spotting

France: None that we noticed.

Bosnia: Paddy Ashdown (who is a really, really good skier) and the ex-Chelsea footballer, Mateja Kezman (I appreciate this may only be of interest if you are actually a member of my family but we found it exciting, although he wasn't that pleased to be reminded of his Chelsea days which were not what you might call covered with glory).

Either way, we have been spoilt. Skiing has proved to be a real hit with the small ones. Adam throws himself down the slopes and can't wait to get back onto skis. Luke, still with that toddler belief that everything will be alright and someone will catch him at the bottom, just stands there as his skis take him down the slope, and amazingly enough someone does always does. It's nice to be 2. Now, just to work out how to afford to take them again...

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First carnival of the New Year is up over at A Modern Mother's and I strongly advise grabbing yourself a coffee and heading over there to see what the rest of the British Mummy and Daddy Bloggers have been up to over Christmas and New Year.

2 days, 6 countries, 1 car, 2 small boys, 850 miles and 1 secret to succesfully enduring the ordeal

2010-01-04T09:36:00.004+01:00

We're back. The house is officially a catastrophe and buried under piles of laundry. The dog is furious with being left behind and sulking by the front door. The boys are back in nursery. I'm having my first proper (i.e. sludge at the bottom) coffee in weeks. And, finally, a chance to sneak back into the blogosphere whilst ignoring the colossal number of things that I should be doing to take a chance to wish every one a very Happy New Year.

We had ever such a lovely time. Christmas was filled with great food, good wine (so exciting), excited children and tipsy adults playing games very competitively. Perfect. The boys raced around with their cousins proving the bizarre theory that the more children there are, the less work it is. Secretly wonder whether we should have more children to try and reduce my workload before remembering the exception to the rule, which is that the other children must not be siblings. New Years was dominated by skiing, and having put the boys into French ski school in the mornings, Dave and I had plenty of opportunity to blow the cobwebs away racing each other down the slopes before chasing the boys all afternoon. Somewhat surprisingly, the boys took to skis like a duck to water and Adam was already heard to say to my Mum 'Come On! Catch Up!' as he pegged it down the nursery slope executing a couple of nifty turns on the way. It won't be long before we can't catch them at all.

We drove back last night. 6 countries in 2 days is not to be taken lightly. In no particular order they were

Switzerland: Used to Bosnian prices, Switzerland was quite a shock. We had bought with us a huge stash of Bosnian meat (which is excellent by the way!) which probably halved the cost of the holiday.

France: France. So lovely. So many cheeses to take home with us. Such a smell radiating out from the back of the car. Wonderful. We might have sneaked in a bottle or two of fine red wine and some champagne to offset the pain of going back to drinking Croatian Vranac (red) and Krstic (white) until we go home. Now we just have to decide whether to ration ourselves or to blow the lot in one evening of excess.

Italy: Italian drivers have made me rethink my assertion that Bosnian drivers are dangerous. The Italians take it to a whole new level.

Slovenia: Definite candidate for where we would like to live for when we embark on that dream of buying that old wreck in a spectacular setting to do up. European (in the Euro and everything, with really good motorways too), beautiful, skiing, lots of spectacular national parks, not much coast, but plenty of lakes. Kind of like the best bits of Bosnia without the pain. Yes, we like Slovenia.

Croatia: Sadly not the pretty coast bit, but the bit that goes across the top which is rather flat and not all that interesting.

Bosnia: Hitting Bosnia after spending 2 days driving at 120km/hr (80 mph) was like sticking the handbrake on. The motorways disappear. The top speed is 80km/hr (50 mph) but most of the time is spent at 60km (40mph) trying to avoid the plethora of traffic police out with their speed guns. Seriously, it must have been their New Years Resolution, they were everywhere.

And the secret to success? I've always been against them in a we didn't have them so why should they, it is good for them to get bored, we'll do so much else in the car without them kind of way. But, there is a big difference between a 3 hour drive and a 15 hour one. So, In Car DVD player with screen for each boy, I fall worshipping at your feet. For you kept them happy, not fighting (much), not hitting each other (much) and allowed us adults to do a couple of the 'what do you remember of the last decade quizzes'. It turns out that we don't remember all that much. That's what parenthood and sleep deprivation do for you.

Things I have said to my children: The snowtime edition

2009-12-18T09:22:00.007+01:00

It's still snowing here. I hear that it is snowing in England too. With luck, not too many of you will have to repeat what I found myself saying earlier:

- Look at all that snow boys! Lets go outside and play!
- Want to build a snowman?
- Yes we can throw snowballs.
- No, I prefer it if you don't put snow down my trousers.
- Before we go out everyone has to do a wee.
- Because once we have your waterproofs on it is very difficult to get them off. Much better to do a wee now and then we don't have to worry about it.
- Why are you saving your wee up?
- Because you want to make pretty patterns in the snow with it.
- Ok. Right. I think it is probably better if we do wees now. What happens if we were playing where you did a wee?
- Yees, we would be playing in yellow snow. That isn't a good thing darling. We don't like yellow snow.
- Are you SURE you don't want to do a wee?
- Ok, fleeces on.
- Luke - can you hear me? Come and put your fleece on!
- Luke! Stop taking the Christmas tree decorations off the tree and come and put your fleece on.
- What do you mean you don't want to go outside. Look at all that snow! It's brilliant playing outside in the snow.
- I know we played in the snow yesterday.
- And the day before.
- But it was great. We loved it.
- You're bored of playing in the snow?
- You know that it hardly ever snows in England. Think of all those English children who'd love to come and play in the snow right now. (realise at this point I am starting to sound like someone wittering on about starving children in Africa, with Bosnians the over privileged snow wasters and the Brits the snow starved charity cases - decide not to pursue this tactic any further)
- We are going to go outside.
- Luke, STOP pulling the lights off the tree.
- Where's your fleece gone Adam?
- Adam?
- Is that my bra you've got on your head?
- No, we can't pretend to be aliens and caterpillars. We are GOING OUTSIDE TO PLAY IN THE SNOW
- LUKE! Have you just fed one of the Christmas decorations to the dog?
- COME BACK HERE BOTH OF YOU!
- Ok, you have your fleeces on. Now lets put on our trousers.
- Luke, stop hitting Adam please.
- Oh just put your trousers on - both of you.
- Adam, don't hit Luke.
- Boots.
- Stop chasing each other, stop screeching, stop laughing at me and once I've put something on you DON'T TAKE IT OFF.
- You have to wear gloves. Your hands will freeze otherwise and they are best put on before your coat so that they keep you nice and warm. (oh sweet jesus, I have had enough of this. Shall I just let them go out without gloves and freeze their little paws off?)
- Who's just walked through the house with muddy boots?
- No, you are right, I did tell you to keep your boots on but I didn't tell you to go and get your Tractor Jigsaw.
- The Tractor Jigsaw is not going outside.
- BECAUSE IT IS NOT.
- Hats!
- Because it is -5C out there and you will freeze.
- I'm hot too. That is because we are still (bloody well) inside. If we ever manage to get out of the (f*cking) door then we'll be the right (f*cking) temperature. (deep intake of breath, forced smile and slightly weird manic staring eyes)
- We are going outside because playing in snow IS FUN (said through gritted teeth and with clenched fists)
- No we are not going to go to the Yellow House Pizza Place.
- Because we are going to play outside in the snow and because the roads are ice rinks and all the cars are slipping around all over the place and I don't want to drive ANYWHERE.
- Daddy wouldn't drive either.
- Ok, everyone ready? Phew it is hot in here with all our winter stuff on, lets get outside and play in that snow! (hmmm that wasn't great, but it is better than last year when Luke was still in nappies and he'd always do a poo just when we were ready to go out.)
- What do you mean to you want to do a poo?
- Um, no I'm not bashing my head against a wall. I'm just resting it a little.
- Have you been in the laundry basket?
- No we are not playing caterpillars and aliens with the one nice bra I own. Because we are not. Because it is mine and the one of the only things left that is sacred from the Before Boys era - only apparently no longer sacred - relegated to being a caterpillar head.
- Why have you taken your boots off?
- ARRGHGHGHGHGHHHHHHHHHHHHH Some one come and rescue me! I'm losing my mind - it is a form of Chinese water torture but worse because I have to keep on trying to be nice.
- That's a record boys. Only one hour from deciding to go outside to actually making out the door. (note to self: The boys do not understand sarcasm. It may make you feel better but it isn't big or clever. Grow up, act your age and rise above it.)
- See! It is such fun outside. Aren't we having a nice time.
- You've had enough of playing in the snow already? No, I do believe that you have to stay outside for at least as long as it took us to get ready to go out.
- Yes I like the summer too. Only a couple of months to go now.
- I can't wait either.

Enjoy the snow, you Brits.

(with thanks to Millenium Housewife who invented the Things I have said genre and writes them so much better than I ever could!)

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Spare us a thought this weekend. We're off on our Christmas trip which involves an estimated 15 hour drive (in good conditions) through 6 countries. Current forecast: Snow. If it takes us less than 3 days to get there I'll be amazed. But we are passing through countries with good food on the way so we may get diverted to stuff our faces with all the things we can't get here.

Anyway, I probably won't be doing much on the blogging front until after New Years, so have a good one, all of you and try to stay sane. x

A post in which it is obvious that I am English

2009-12-16T09:30:00.011+01:00

Guess what?

(I'll have you know that these photos were taken at about 11am. It was snowing and really was that dark, has been like this for days. Continued snowing for quite a while as well. Above is the garden. Below, the view from the front door - when I say we live next to a mosque, you can see that we really do live right next door to a mosque... and have grown to love the call to prayer, even at 5am!)

IT SNOWED! And not a light namby pamby dusting of snow either. There's a good foot and a half on the ground and that was from one day of snowing. The forecast for today: Heavy snow. Tomorrow? Heavy snow. Friday? Heavy Snow. That's a whole lot of snow coming our way.

Being British and therefore not used to snow, I find this fantastically exciting. It looks so pretty! It is proper white fluffy snow, a powder dream for a skier and a snow ball dream for small boys. Although getting ready to go out is a real palaver, what with waterproof trousers, hats, scarves, gloves, snow boots and all, the boys want to spend all afternoon outdoors. So it is snowmen, sledging, snow balls and glowing red cheeks for us all the way. When they tire of that there is always a path that needs clearing or snow to be swept off the car, activities that could have been invented especially for small boys. And there I was thinking what was I going to do with them all winter.

The Bosnians are not so keen on the snow. They walk around huddled darkly in their coats, hands thrust deep into their pockets, muttering 'zima' (winter) and tsking. They know that snow is a total nightmare in reality. The roads are treacherous, the walkways become ice rinks and it is going to get COLD (max temp forecast for Friday, a balmy -6C). Their kids love it as much as mine do, there were a whole load of them going to nursery on sledges this morning, but the adults know that snow looks pretty for about a whole day before it just becomes a wet, cold misery.

They know how to deal with it though. There may have been 2 foot or so of snow, but all the buses were out this morning (as opposed to London's efforts in the snow fall last year), every single car has got winter tyres on (by law) and Tuzla, being the city built on salt mines, is never ever going to run out of grit to salt the roads with.

No doubt, by the end of the week when we are totally snowed in and the boys are bored of being wet and cold, I'll be fed up with it too. But right now, I'm loving it for being so pretty, so Christmassy, so indisputably winter.

(ps sorry about the lack of gaps between paragraphs, Blogger being a pain and not letting me do it and I've got bored of trying to make it...)

A Dog's Life

2009-12-14T09:24:00.006+01:00

During the war here many people couldn't manage to feed their dogs so had to set them free to fend for themselves. This combined with a patchy government strategy for dealing with dogs means that there are a lot of strays around here. Really a lot.

For the past couple of months we've been sort of looking after one of them. Or, more accurately, she sort of attached herself to us, and we couldn't resist her. It's difficult to say what sort of dog she was, bit of German Shepherd certainly, but finer featured and not as big. Either way, she was a real gem of a dog. Calm, even tempered and ever so sweet she played hard with Jess and was calm with the boys. We wormed, ticked and flea-ed her, fed her some proper food and she began to shine. If we went to the shops she would come too, just touching our hands with her nose to let us know that she was there, then she'd wait patiently outside the shop for us to come out before trotting back proudly and beautifully to heel.

She won our confidence over time and I began to trust her. She was allowed to come inside the house in the evenings, but still slept outside. A couple of times we asked if she wanted to get in the car to come for a walk with us, but she didn't fancy that idea much, preferring to do her own thing during the day.

She could get in and out of the garden at will and settled into a routine of heading off to do whatever it is that dogs do in the morning and coming back in the afternoon. Occasionally I'd come across her on the other side of town (having crossed at least 2 major roads to get there). She'd come over to say hello, but again wouldn't want a lift in the car so we'd go our separate ways and she'd come back later that day in time for supper. We tried to block the escape route up, but she would just take it down again, not really wanting to be totally domesticated just yet. In many ways she was living the doggy dream, a house when she wanted it, but also the freedom to do whatever she wanted when she wanted it.

We asked around a bit and the slightly mad, dog obsessed bloke over the road (he of the tendency to put raw bones down the back of his trousers) knew some of her history. He remembered her litter, estimating that she was about 15 months old and had spent her life on the streets. No one owned her or was responsible for her, but he had christened her Belle, so Belle she remained.

We began to talk seriously about whether we were going to adopt her or not. Taking her back to Britain would be no mean feat, Jess is fully PETS passported up, but to get a stray dog onto the scheme would cost a fair bit of money and take a lot of time. We'd have to do things like Fed-Ex blood samples to the UK, that type of thing. But Dave went out one evening with both dogs, neither on the lead, and one stayed to heel the entire way whilst the other expensive pedigree dog that has had years of training had to be hauled out of the neighbours bins at least twice. We weren't sure about having 2 largish dogs in the house, but she was winning us over.

We haven't seen her for over a week now. This is very unusual, she was always one to be back in time for supper. The weather is cold and snowing, she would be looking for some warmth if she could. Maybe she'll turn up one evening looking for a treat, but I doubt it. She may have been hit by a car, the hunters that are occasionally employed to curtail the stray population may have got her. Possibly she found another family to take her in, maybe she just decided to hang out in a pack rather than with some humans. We don't know what has happened to her, probably never will.

I do miss her. Belle. I hope that you'll be back soon, tonight maybe? I desperately hope so, but deep down I doubt it; I think if you could have come back, you'd have been back by now. I hope you are warm and safe somewhere. But most of all I hope you enjoyed your time with us, I hope we made a difference to you. We will never forget you.

Kitchen Blues

2009-12-11T09:43:00.005+01:00

There are many things that I will miss about Bosnia when we go, but one of the things that will not have me all dewy eyed with nostalgia will be our kitchen. Words cannot describe how much I hate our kitchen. Sometimes I go to bed cursing it.

I am of course massively spoilt. The kitchen is actually pretty big. There is a fridge the size of a small bathroom (thinking about it, I will miss the fridge. It is nice to have a big fridge). But, in common with a lot of Bosnian kitchens, there is no workspace. You think I'm exaggerating? Have a look at this. This is our entire kitchen and if I was any good at computers I'd draw you a nice arrow pointing out the vodka addled plums by the knives which have just been extracted from the plum vodka and ask for any ideas what to do with them. I digress, but any good ideas welcome in the comment box.

Things to note.

1. Look at the amount of workspace we have. Trust me, it is not very much.

2. There is no dishwasher. This fact in itself doesn't bother me any more. I'm so used to washing up that I actually am not even particularly bothered about having one any more. What does bother me is that there is nowhere to put the stuff that needs to be washed up. I mean obviously it goes in the sink, but once that is full it has to go on the (already tiny) workspace.

3. Hobs are electric. I hate electric hobs. Partly because I am a cook cook cook cookability kind of girl and love my gas hobs for the instant changes in heat, and partly because once you have used a hob it is on and HOT for quite a long time. You can't put pans on it. So you have to put them on the (really pretty tiny now as it is also covered with washing up) workspace.

4. I spend a lot of time whilst I am cooking dancing around with hot pots, sharp knives and muttering/growling that there is nowhere to put them down ANYWHERE! This isn't good for my sanity and doesn't make cooking an enjoyable experience.

5. I'm going to gloss over how close the electric points are to the sink (isn't this illegal and wildly dangerous?), how the drainage board plughole is actually blocked and therefore the water has nowhere to drain to and how the sink doesn't quite fit and therefore water spills everywhere whilst doing said washing up as, well, it is just me being narky and may be due to the fact that I went to bed last night still whinging over the kitchen.

So, obviously, although I'd have you believe that the kitchen looks like the above photo all the time, the reality is more like the picture below:

I'm so glad we are not ever going to have to attempt to cook a Christmas dinner on it. It is one of the world's great mysteries how Bosnian women manage to produce epic feasts at the drop of a hat and still have an immaculately clean kitchen at the end of it.

Missing those Christmas tunes

2009-12-09T09:33:00.011+01:00

I've had Christmases abroad but until we moved to Bosnia I had never spent a Christmas in a country which doesn't really celebrate Christmas*. Christmas Day is a normal working day here and I am finding it odd. I hadn't realised how ingrained into my psyche Christmas is and to be somewhere where Christmas doesn't really feature is unsettling. There aren't really any cheesy Christmas movies on TV. That special sort of Christmas smell, the gingery, cinammony, fir tree smell is lacking. I'm missing Christmas carols - hell, I'm even missing Slade and Band Aid.

I'm finding this most difficult around the boys. We may live in Bosnia, but they are English and Christmas is a huge part of their culture. They need to grow up learning about the nativity, getting excited about presents, enjoying the build up, the parties, the preparation and the anticipation of it all. There are no Christmas activities at their nursery, no nativity play, no shepherd's in tea towels, no Mary forgetting her lines and dropping Baby Jesus.

So we're trying to do it alone. They have advent calenders which are eagerly opened every morning. We put up a tree at the weekend, complete with decorated baubles and gaudy lights (note to self: never, ever trust the husband to buy the Christmas lights again - he may have had instructions for simple white ones that don't do all that flashing, but he disregarded it completely and with an evident enjoyment, before conceding somewhat later that night that all the flashing is giving him a headache). We're on a baking binge to try and get that special Christmas smell going throughout the house; this afternoons efforts will be gingerbread men, (but without the golden syrup, hoping honey will prove to be an adequate substitute). Tinsel is all over the place. I've got the radio tuned in to British radio stations to get carols and Christmas songs into their consciousness. We talk a bit about Baby Jesus's birthday, but to be honest they are more interested in Father Christmas.

We had Christmas in Bosnia last year, and loved it, but this year we are driving to Switzerland for the festive season. I'm very much looking forward to it. We will be seeing lots of family, eating food that we don't normally have access to and most importantly for me, having a whole country also engaging in Christmas festivities. I'm quite tired of doing all the Christmas atmosphere myself.

Having been the outsider for a few years, the one trying to celebrate a festival which no one else is really, I have far more empathy for those who are also find themselves in a minority. It is often wonderful, and the experience that we are having of living in a different culture are always fascinating, but sometimes, it is nice to be in sync with the rest of the country.

*this being Bosnia, obviously it is complicated. The Catholic Bosnian Croats celebrate Christmas, but they are concentrated in the south and west of the country. Tuzla is in the Northeast and although there are a some Croats here, it is predominantly Muslim and Serb. The Muslims celebrated Bajram earlier this month, and the Serbs follow the Orthodox calender, celebrating Christmas on January 7th. It isn't totally unChristmassy here; there are Christmas decorations around, the local supermarket Bingo has some really beautiful wooden ones that I am tempted to buy up for keepsakes and there are lights up in the streets but the sense of momentum towards Christmas so obvious in the UK is absent.

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Obviously being in Bosnia we are also missing the panto season. Oh yes we are! This sadly means that we can't sign up for the Great Panto Review 2009 to help raise funds for NACCPO - the National Alliance of Childhood Cancer Parents Organisations who work to support children and young adults with cancer. But I would recommend anyone in the UK to check out the reviews, think about going to see one, and to donate if they can to this small organisation that is entirely dependent upon funds that they raise for its work.

Christmas Cards

2009-12-07T09:30:00.006+01:00

Last year I couldn't find any Christmas cards anywhere, so we made the lot. Or rather, given that my boys were more into throwing the paint, I made the lot pretending that they were helping, whilst they ran around demolishing the play room. I remember the afternoon well, it wasn't one of my most enjoyable.

Anyway, I painstakingly crafted about 70 cards, wrote proper messages in them (not just a simple Dear x Happy Christmas Love Brit x but a proper message with news and everything) and spent a small fortune at the post office sending them all off (whilst the boys were taking years off my life by once again demolishing the cardboard cutout displays which is their favourite post office activity).

How many cards were sent to us last year? Four. (You know who you are, and can I just say I love you for it. Thank you! Thank you!)

So this year I've gone on strike. I'm not doing Christmas cards. At least I'm not doing Christmas cards for my usual recipients. This year, the boys and I are going to join the Amnesty International Greeting Cards Campaign and make some cards to send to a few people who have suffered from human rights abuses and who might appreciate a message of support. People for whom a handwritten, personal card means a lot.

So apologies people normally on my Christmas card list. I do wish you a very Happy Christmas and a very exciting, rewarding and enjoyable 2010, and I'll be in touch with you to say that. But this year our Christmas card efforts are going to go to those who will really appreciate it.

Anyone can join in the Amnesty Greeting Cards Campaign. They have listed 32 stories of people around the world who they are highlighting, (four of which have been specifically chosen as part of their youth campaign for children aged 8 and up). These are people who they feel will particularly appreciate personal messages of support. So if you have a spare card, think about sending one too. It will be very much valued and appreciated.

Dear So and So: Bosnian Version Part VII

2009-12-04T09:31:00.003+01:00

It's Friday. Time for that moment to write some postcards to the people I have something to say to, and as it has been a while I have a lot to say. Right, who is first in the firing line?

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Dear Jessie,

Although the weather has been filthy these past few weeks, it has been a joy to take you for walks. This is mainly due to the fact that there are no picnickers or people enjoying a quiet lunch in the parks, which means that you can't disappear for hours on end only to be found harassing some poor woman who is frightened of dogs. You would have a lot more fun walks off the lead if you would only learn that picnics are for people and not for dogs.

Your ever watchful owner,
Fraught Mummy

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Dear Bosnian VAT authorities,

Has it ever occurred to you that for a company attempting to sell products outside of Bosnia, the requirement to obtain passport numbers or notarised copies of the investiture documents kills potential sales stone dead. Can you give us one good reason for having to have it? On the off chance you are actually thinking about why companies don't want to invest in Bosnia, I'd recommend starting with this little piece of needless bureaucracy.

Yours, not sad to be leaving the red tape,
FM

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Dear Bosnian Nursery,

I know that we are not really in a Christmas celebrating area, so I'm not expecting Christmassy type things to happen. But if you are going to have a Father Christmas come and visit the kids and hand out toys, doesn't it make sense to have him come before Christmas?

Yours, a little confused,
FM

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Dear Boys,

Given that you are the running, jumping, shouting, wrestling, thumping variety of boy, it did bring a tear to my eye to overhear you telling the other that you loved them. Then to see a voluntary hug nearly had me howling. I don't know if you have decided moments like these are all the more special for their rarity, but my goodness me it was a special one for me.

yours with an extra special hug and kiss from your Mummy,
Mummy xxxx

PS - particularly nice touch to do it as several Bosnian Grannies were walking past, who all smiled approvingly and gave me the rarely obtained look of what lovely children you have. I did like that. x

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Dear Bosnians in the post office

OK people. I know I am British and therefore am born knowing how to queue, but seriously, have you not learnt this skill yet at all? Do you realise how difficult it is for me to stop 2 boys from dismantling the cardboard cut out display whilst running laps of the post office and causing the security guard to threaten to throw us out again, let alone fight for my spot in the queue? If my attention is diverted for one second from elbowing my place to the front it shouldn't mean that I have to get sent to the back of the milling crowd again. Bosnian Grannies, may I take this moment to say - you are the worst offenders!

Yours, tutting in a way that only a British person can,
FM

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Dear Luke,

To wake up at 5.30am, see you with your pyjamas round your ankles, bottom bared, and hear those fateful words 'I did a wee all by myseff' was alarming. To realise that you meant in the loo was thrilling. You are a little superstar.

Lots of Love and hugs
Your ever so proud Mummy

PS - the period from 5.30am to 7am when you systematically stuck your fingers in my ears and nose, singing and whacking me over the head with a water bottle was not quite so thrilling. The next stage is obviously doing a wee all by yourself and then going back to your own bed for more sleep.

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Dear Bosnian Authorities,

We are going home in April. Can you not just extend the visas, car import licence, right to work etc. for 2 months rather than force us to go through the whole rigmarole all over again? Come on, have some pity here! Please? Ok, how about just the car import licence? Just thinking about starting the assault on all the bureaucracy again makes me want to cry.

A big GRRRRR directed at you all,
FM

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Dear Tuzla,

Your new playground is great. Really it is a playground to be proud of (and my goodness me did you need a playground here!). But, did you talk to any Mums before building it? It's just that to reach a lot of the equipment you have to go off the paths, and at this time of year that means heading through Somme-like mud, the kind that doubles the size of your shoes in under one minute. This then gets all over the playground equipment. Any mother in Tuzla could have told you this will happen.

Yours, grumpily that having finally got a playground to go to, it is only occasionally usable this time of year,
FM

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Dear Outside dog,

I have no idea where you go all day. But I did spot you on the other side of town yesterday when I nearly ran you over as you ran out into the traffic. Do be careful.

Yours, ever worrying that you will not be coming back this evening,
FM

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Dear Dave,

It was a cold. I had the same lurgy. It wasn't that bad. Seriously.

Your loving but rolling her eyes at the heavens wife,
FM xx

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Dear tenants of our English house,

I'm not going to write much as you never know who might be reading. But just to say you signed the contract. You must have known you were planning to move out earlier than expected.

Yours, not wanting to be a real pain, but really asking us to not mind if you don't pay a couple of months rental is rather hopeful,
FM

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Dear English School and County Council,

You have been legends in your own time. Thank you for agreeing to take us on, thank you for finding us a place and thank you for not minding too much all the too-ing and fro-ing. I promise to not cause any problems again. Well for at least a couple of months.

Thank you thank you,
FM

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Dear Bosnia,

You know we love you, particularly your people who have just got the best sense of humour and can make me laugh and laugh. But right now, what with the weather, the red tape and all, we are feeling a bit ground down. Can we have a couple of days that remind us how much fun it can be here?

Please?
FM x

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I feel better already. Anyone else wanting to join in can - just remember to head over to see Kat at 3 Bedroom Bungalow and sign up.

It's a small small world

2009-12-02T09:34:00.005+01:00

So, it turns out that in the office next to Dave's works a guy that I once knew at University. Last time we had a conversation was probably somewhere around 1994. Bearing in mind that Bosnia is hardly the worlds most visited destination and Tuzla doesn't top the list of most visited towns in Bosnia, you can understand our surprise at seeing each other. Just goes to show the world can be a very small place indeed.

**@%%&&!

2009-12-01T10:40:00.007+01:00

One of my least favourite things about some Bosnian parents is their propensity to think that teaching their children to swear is funny. Now, I'm no angel on the swearing front, I try to contain my expletives to 'oh blast' or 'ffffffffiddle dee dee!' and similar, but occasionally the ability to stop my mouth moving before the words come out goes missing. I do try hard not to swear in front of my children as I do not think children swearing is in the slightest way funny, cute or amusing.

Most of the time the Bosnian children swearing doesn't really impact me. I mean I can swear a bit in Bosnian, but most of the insults just form a part of the series of sounds that I don't understand. But when Adam comes back from nursery and suddenly yells at Luke 'eat my pooo-see', I suddenly have a problem on my hands.

Luckily for me (and much like Nappy Valley Girl's boys) he is in a real toilet humour phase so has developed this particular insult to be 'eat my poo'. I'm less fussed about this, it is something he could have come up with on his own and as we have discovered that the only way to get him to eat Spag Bol is to tell him that it is made up of worms covered with worm poo, I can see why he is thinking the way he is. I've had a few conversations with him about not saying nasty things to other people, but keen to not draw attention to this particular phrase I'm ignoring it completely and hoping it will soon be forgotten.

I am interested to know though what others have done to stop their children from swearing, and also from any Bosnians who might be able to clarify whether I'm right in thinking that some people think it is funny to teach children to swear and whether they also like to teach them to swear in English.

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And a late shout out for people wanting to check the latest British Mummy Bloggers Carnival - it went up last week over at A Mother's Ramblings, if you haven't already been over there, then skip over to check out the stories from the parenting front line.

Overexcited in Zagreb

2009-11-30T09:32:00.006+01:00

Much as we adore Bosnia, we do find that every now and then we need to have a bit of time out. Sometimes it is just nice to go somewhere where you can pay with plastic rather than always having to have cash. Sometimes we like going somewhere which has explicitly child orientated activities or even a cinema. Sometimes we like to go for a walk in parks that aren't covered in broken bottles, rubbish and graffiti. Every now and then we like to get in the car and drive faster than 50mph on a road that has more than one lane each way. So this weekend, we made a break for it, making a dash for the delights of the city of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia.

We weren't really sure what to expect. I've been to Zagreb before but only to spend an hour or so whilst waiting for a bus out. It's nice. Really nice. Looks and feels a bit like Paris, beautiful European buildings, squares with parks and tree lined avenues. Roads of cafes and some really nice looking shops and bookstores. There's a well developed tram system (hello activities for small boys for the day) and plenty of statues of men on horses with swords (yup, more activities for small boys).

The highlight of my weekend was a trip to Costa Coffee. I'm obviously easily pleased, but there was coffee that I could take away. Look Bosnians, and learn. Coffee, to take away. See? You put it in a cup and take it out of the shop. You could do it if you wanted to. You could also make coffee with hot milk which would be really good too, but I'd settle for a take away coffee venue to start with.

Then there was also the cinema. So good that we went twice. First with the boys to see Ice Age 3 (think it was pretty good but it was in Croatian so I didn't follow it all). It was their first visit to the cinema and it was a good cinema, a proper cinema. With huge seats and popcorn and places to put your drink and everything. They couldn't believe their eyes. The sound was even turned down a bit so it wasn't quite so overwhelming for small people, which is a trick that some English cinemas would do well to learn. In fact the cinema was such a hit that we went back, later in the evening for another film followed by some Thai food. Suffice to say that it was gooooooood. Bosnia doesn't really do Chinese, Thai or Indian food, so this was a taste explosion of the massive scale. The boys were placated with their first ever trip to a McDonald's. They thought the food was ok, but the toys that came with a Happy Meal were too exciting for anything. They are keen to go back to McDonald's as soon as possible. Fortunately for me, Bosnia is the only European country that doesn't have one, so we will not have to suffer the whinges for a McDonald's every time they spot one.

We also found the Zagreb Puppet Theatre, with shows especially for children. We couldn't resist a trip to see the 3 Little Pigs, which was in Croatian but that didn't really matter. The boys loved it; laughing hysterically as the pigs whacked the big bad wolf with sticks, booing and hissing at the wolf whenever he appeared and really enjoying the spectacle. It was rather wonderful, a great first theatre experience for the boys too.

Back home now and time to reflect. We loved Zagreb, found it to be an engaging city, with plenty going on and we'll be keen to squeeze in another visit before we leave the Balkans. But it did highlight how far Bosnia has to go to before it will feel like a country that is about to join Europe. The Croats are almost a part of the EU, the Bosnians haven't even started talks. The Croats feel closely linked in to Europe, the Bosnians don't quite. Bosnia is unmistakeably European, but it really feels like it has some way to go before it feels like the rest of Europe.

PS - if anyone fancies a trip to Zagreb (which I would highly recommend it and I know BA fly direct for about £60 which isn't bad!) can I recommend the AB Centrum apartments right in the centre of town, who are not only child but also pet friendly and pretty good value to boot.

Bangers and Festivals

2009-11-27T08:15:00.006+01:00

Woke up this morning to an cavalcade of bangs and crashes and the realisation that there were a lot of people out on the streets at a relatively early stage of the day. This being Bosnia and all, I was out of bed pretty sharpish, before remembering that today is Kurbam Bajram, the Bosnian Muslim festival of Eid Al Adha. Muslim tradition asks for an animal to be sacrificed and the meat shared between friends, neighbours with a certain amount donated to the poor. So, having been to the mosque and setting off a lot of bangers in the street everyone was heading home to cook epic amounts of meat and will be spending the next couple of days visiting their family and neighbours to share said meat. This Bajram goes on for four days, so there's a whole lot of meat to be eaten, even by Bosnian standards. Then, much like Halloween, many Bosnian children are allowed to come and knock on doors to ask for money or sweets to help their celebrations.

Bajram is one of those festivals, like Easter, that moves about a bit during the year and it always seems to take people by surprise. At least this year I had some forewarning about the closure of the boys nursery. So, with two energetic little lads requiring some attention from their mother and bags to be packed for our weekend away in Zagreb (it has a cinema!), I've opted for the short cut and dug about in the Brits In Bosnia backlog to find the post I wrote last year at this time. Now if I can just stop the boys getting hold of any bangers...

"One of things that I always forget about Bosnia is that with a significant proportion of the population belonging to 3 different religions, it seems that there is always a holiday to celebrate. Right now the Muslims are celebrating Kurbam Bajram (also known as Eid Al Adha which is the Festival of Sacrifice, in commemoration of the willingness of Ibrahim (Abraham) to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God.). This being Bosnia it involves a lot of eating and drinking and a fair amount of partying with many children knocking on our door for small gifts.

I'm gearing up for Christmas at the moment, along with most of the Bosnian Croats who are predominantly Catholic. Right now this appears to involve writing a lot of Christmas cards, wondering where we will get a tree and wishing I had got my act together earlier regarding buying Christmas presents. Tuzla has a significant Croat population and Christmas is a big affair. The town is covered in Christmas lights which, if I am not mistaken, are exactly the same as the ones decorating the lampposts back home.

Then there is the Orthodox Christmas, celebrated by the Serbs, on January 7th. I have to confess to knowing very little about this one, but talk to me after Jan 7th and I hope to know a little more.

Here in Tuzla, which has always prided itself on its multi-ethnic outlook and inclusiveness, the citizens appear to have taken the decision to celebrate everything, irrespective of their personal religion. When Bajram falls in December this time of year gets pretty busy, particularly as there is also a Bosnian National Day holiday at the end of November as well. Throw in a New Year (which everyone celebrates with enthusiasm) and you really do have a festive season. Now, if only I could know when the holidays were before I turn up to find a closed nursery I'd be truly jolly."

Fame of a sort

2009-11-25T08:23:00.003+01:00

We are achieving a certain amount of notoriety here.

A very dear friend of mine is an teacher at the English Department in the local University. She was talking to her relatively new students about native English speakers in Tuzla (there aren't many of us). She mentioned that there was an English family with two small boys and a dog in town and asked if anyone knew us.

There was a silence. No one put there hand up. Then one girl ventured: 'we don't actually know them, but we have heard them quite a lot.'

Curse those beautifully behaved Bosnian children who stand silently and watch as my two demolish the window displays in shoe stores. Damn those sensible Bosnian women who sensibly have a big gap between their children so have never had to run the 2 toddler through the market stalls selling toy guns gauntlet. Evil glares to the supermarket who not only insist on having their toy section right at the entrance to the store immediately reducing the visit to 'no you can't have 85 million toys' but who also have trolleys that will tip over if the boys stand on the side and jump, as we have discovered to our detriment - twice. Grrrrr to my boys who insist on going really fast on their scooters, forcing me to run after them, dragging a reluctant dog on the lead, shrieking 'too far! too far! STOP!!!' every time we take them out.

I'm never going to town again.

Coming Home

2009-11-23T09:38:00.005+01:00

Given the topic of quite a few of my most recent posts, regular readers might be forgiven for thinking that this is going to be another post about football. But it isn't. It is about us. We have made a decision and we are going to go home. Back to the UK. Moving back for good. Our Bosnian adventure is coming to an end at some point this April.

There were so many reasons to stay and so many reasons to leave, too many to post about now. We will be ever so sad to go, but will also be excited to go back home too. I'm feeling quite conflicted about it all. Some days I'm thrilled, other days I think we are making a big mistake. The timing will be awful, we will have just struggled through another bitter Bosnian winter (the tough time to be here) and will be leaving just as summer appears, which is when Bosnia is at its most fun. I have every confidence that the British summer will once again be miserable, grey and full of rain and we will spend most of the summer watching the sun baked Tuzla weather forecasts and thinking, we should have been there - Swimming in the lakes, cooking BBQs, spending all day outside in the sunshine!. Some days I look around and think we've just started to really settle down here, we are enjoying ourselves and the adventure, so why are we moving now? Others I mutter darkly that the moving day can't come a day too soon.

I find it more than interesting that since we have decided to leave, I have started talking about England as home. Before the decision home meant here, Bosnia. If we talked about England then we called it England, Britain or the UK (but never that ghastly word 'Blighty' which I loathe with a passion usually reserved for those who don't pick up dog poo in playgrounds). Now we are going back, there has been a shift in how I feel about the place. Now I feel that we are going to go back home. I do hope that over the next 5 months this doesn't mean that I lose the sense of being at home in Bosnia.

Football Dreams

2009-11-21T10:56:00.003+01:00

The footballing dream is over. On Wednesday night, the Portuguese beat Bosnia 0-1 and are the ones who will be packing their bags to go to South Africa in the summer. The Bosnians were expecting it after their earlier defeat on Saturday, but are none the less devastated. Being English and therefore with some experience of being dumped out of important football tournaments by the Portuguese, I feel their pain.

I went to the game. My goodness me was I excited. I absolutely LOVE big important games like this one. The games when people don't sleep the night before because they are so nervous. The games when everyone comes together, whether they like football or not. The games when suddenly everyone appears clad in the country colours (blue and yellow in Bosnia's case). Even in areas where people don't really support Bosnia, there was a sense of support for the team.

Bosnia play their home games in the western industrial town of Zenica. They could play in the 35,000 seater stadium in Sarajevo but prefer the smaller 16,000 seater of Biljino Polje where they have a fearsome record. I could see why, the stadium was full of passionate Bosnians. I couldn't see a single Portuguese fan. Right up until the point when Portugal scored and the whole stadium went totally silent bar about 100 men clad in red and yellow corralled right up in the corner. At that point the Bosnians knew it was over.

I wanted to write a more thoughtful post. A post that talked about how all is not well with Balkan Football. A post that said how much the Bosnian fans hate the people who work in the Bosnian FA, believing them to be utterly corrupt. A post about how fans have been killed here in the past 2 months, purely for supporting their team. First, the Toulouse fan from France who was attacked by Partizan supporters in Belgrade and then the supporter of the predominantly Muslim Sarajevo FK club, who was shot when his team travelled to the Bosnian Croat town of Siroki Brijeg (and as aside I wanted to comment on how the man responsible for the shooting was arrested, put into a secure jail and escaping from its centre just hours later as a story that is so typically Balkan it should be a case study). A post about how links between some football fan groups and far right nationalist groups caused the Pride March in Belgrade to be cancelled as police couldn't guarantee the safety of the march participants.

But this is not the time. Somehow it doesn't feel right to point out the negative aspects of football at this precise moment in time. Instead, I will leave you with a video of the Bosnian fans before the game, singing their unofficial anthem, the '3 Lions' equivalent as it were (apologies for the quality, I'm no cameraman). Ah hem. 2 days later, I'm still trying to upload the video of the Bosnians singing 'ale ale ale igraj Bosno ne daj se' in full and optimistic voice, but it isn't working. Technology defeats me again. People who do want to see more of the game should head over to We Do Adventure, the other Brits in Bosnia who were also at the game and who are far more proficient at taking (and uploading) vidoes than I am.

A final note to the Bosnians from a Brit, used to experiencing defeat and disappointment at football. There is always next time. Hajmo Bosno!

The X Factor (and children's hospitals)

2009-11-19T10:06:00.004+01:00

Just a short note from me today. I went to watch Bosnia play Portugal at football last night and didn't get back until very late indeed last night. I was then ambushed by two energetic boys very early indeed this morning. I can scarcely raise my head out of my coffee cup, let alone string together a coherent sentence. But there is something very important that I wanted to say before I pull the covers over back over my head and continue trying to ignore the forces of nature surrounding me.

Not living in the UK, the X Factor (the British version of American Idol to you American readers out there) has somewhat passed me by. I mean I've heard of this thing called Jedward but don't actually know anything else about it. But, I do know that if you buy the X-Factor single, You Are Not Alone recorded by all 12 of the finalists, then Sony will dontate all of the profits to the children's hospital at Great Ormond St. and that, people, is a very good thing.

Anyone who watched X Factor on Sunday night will have seen Oscar's video highlighting why the Great Ormond Street Hospital needs your support, and will know that Oscar really was the star of the show!

Great Ormond St. Hospital are really hoping that the single will top the charts this weekend. For not only are they in need of the money that such a feat will raise, they also desparately need to raise awareness of just how much they rely upon the public's support to continue their incredible work. So what are you waiting for? You can download it here. It's only 79p.

Too. Much. Noise.

2009-11-17T19:37:00.005+01:00

I've got a headache. I'm pretty sure it comes from having 2 small boys (occasionally 3) running, jumping, shouting, climbing and screaming all afternoon. Then there is the background noise of the radio, the odd bit of TV, me shouting (at the boys, the dog, whoever comes within my radar at the wrong time). Even the neighbours are getting in on the loud act and the warmish weather means open windows and taking a full hit of turbofolk. Basically, this house is full of noise. Lots of loud competing noise, wherever you go, ALL THE TIME. Even a quiet trip to the loo is accompanied by hammering on the door and screeches of 'Muuuummmmmeeeeeeee whatyadoooooing?' if I'm lucky whereas if I'm less fortunate I'll be blitzed with a simple 'arrghghghghhhhhhh Adam did it!'. I am seriously contemplating buying and wearing earplugs and I'm not exaggerating for effect. I need to do something to protect the frazzled synapses in my overwrought brain.

But it has occurred to me that the music that I crave to listen to has changed. Poppy music is out, too inane and loud. Anything heavier is too, well, heavy. The angsty stuff is just all too much and I haven't any patience for anything without a tune. What I am craving, in these times of much noise, is very, very simple music with one instrument maximum. So, if anyone else is finding themselves overwhelmed with noise, I highly recommend taking a moment to listen to this, a prelude of Bach's for the 'cello. I'm finding it to be most calming at the moment. With Christmas coming up, this is A Good Thing.

In the News

2009-11-16T09:41:00.003+01:00

Having spent most of the last year saying 'I can't believe Bosnia isn't in the news more! Look at what is going on here people, it is serious stuff!', I now find that I can't escape it.

Last week Radio 4 went Bosnia mad, sending its presenter Ed Stourton out to Sarajevo and Banja Luka. He did a couple of reports, including one from the annual British Embassy Guy Fawkes fireworks party in Sarajevo*. Interested parties can listen to them here: Wednesdays report was at 7.20 from Banja Luka, Thursday's reports were at 7:32 (on ethnic tensions and violence) and 8:33 (interview with the former High Representative here, Paddy Ashdown) and Friday's was at 8:45 (main topic, Tito).

Then, as I tapped away at my keyboard, Midweek ambushed me with a piece featuring Jayne Torvill talking about that Olympic Gold win in Sarajevo in 1984 and her subsequent trip back there to stand on the spot where she and Christopher Dean had started their Bolero routine after the war.

I suppose this new attention isn't surprising. There is an awful lot going on at the moment. There are the shenanigans of Karadzic's trial (latest, he has been told he cannot represent himself, has been given some lawyers, has refused to pay them, trial has been postponed to March 2010: This one will run and run). Then Karadzic's deputy during the war, Biljana Plavsic, who voluntarily surrendered herself to the War Crimes Tribunal at The Hague, pleaded guilty to several lesser charges (the more serious charge of genocide being dropped) and was released after serving only seven years. The Bosnian Serb leader, Milorad Dodik, firmly nailed his colours to the mast (again) by flying out the Republika Srpska jet to pick her up and fly her back to Belgrade. Not often you get political leaders going out of their way to associate themselves with those convicted of crimes against humanity.

The real issue at the moment though is not the war crimes tribunals but the talks in Butmir designed to bring about some form of constitional reform and pave the way for the strong international community presence that still overseas the Bosnian political scene to finally leave the country.

In 1995, when the conflict was still raging, the only way that anyone could see to stop the violence was to split the country into two, and to install an all powerful High Representative to ensure that the peace was kept. It did the trick, the violence stopped. By now, 14 years after the war came to a halt, many people feel that these two things keep Bosnia in a permanent state of perilous peace and are preventing the country from moving forward to develop into a stable, prosperous, potential candidate for the EU.

These talks, at Butmir, are trying to gain some form of agreement on constitional reform and then the closure of OHR (the Office of the High Representative), but there doesn't seem to be any agreement in sight. The politicians are posturing, rattling sabres and the international community is wagging its finger but nothing much seems to be actually happening. For a far better summary of what is actually going on it is worth looking at the International Crisis Groups report 'Bosnia's Dual Crisis' published last Thursday.

But why then sudden attention by the Western media? I don't think anything in particular has changed. Instead, I suspect the Western politicos are playing a canny game. By raising the possibility of a return to conflict in Bosnia, the so-called 'Heart of Europe', those involved in handling the negotiations are hauling Bosnia back up the international agenda. Headlines from the Daily Telegraph saying that Bosnia is on the brink of civil war are forcing Europe to look again at Bosnia and sending a strong signal to the Bosnian politicians: 'You may think that we are preoccupied with Afganistan and Iraq but you will not be able to skate under the radar. We are watching you carefully.' With the next set of elections in BiH approaching, this is indeed a welcome thing.

* Yes this is the same Guy Fawkes party that we couldn't go to because the car was still lost in the red tape of the police department and trapped in Tuzla. Yes, this is also the same Guy Fawkes Fireworks party that we didn't think we'd ever be invited back to following the now infamous incident from last years party concerning the Ambassador, the flower pot and the just potty trained small boy.

Football Mania

2009-11-13T18:15:00.001+01:00

Tomorrow is the day. For it is the day that Bosnia will take on Portugal in the first leg of the World Cup Qualifiers. Should Bosnia beat Portugal they will be going to South Africa, their first ever appearance at a major football tournament.

The country (at least the part of the country that supports Bosnia) is so excited it can hardly breathe. They do fancy their chances. Not only are Portugal without the ghastly Christiano Ronaldo but Bosnia’s brilliant duo of Edin Dzeko and Zvjezdan Misimovic are on fire. And totally brilliant. I might just be a little bit in love. Ok, I clearly need to get out more, neither would make Insomniac Mummy's Hot Or Not? Feature, but if they beat the Portuguese tomorrow night, they will be considered the hottest thing in the history of smokingly hot things. On fire indeed.

We'll be out and about watching the match in the squares and the cafes of Tuzla, along with pretty much everyone else. Even the parts of the country that support Serbia or Croatia will be watching with interest. Serbia has already qualified, Croatia is out. Much as many of the Bosnian Serbs or Croats might not actually support Bosnia, most would like to see the team do well.

So spare them a thought on Saturday, maybe even give them a cheer. It would be such a boost in a country that could really do with some positive news.

Christmas Decorations (snigger snigger)

2009-11-11T09:27:00.012+01:00

Although Tuzla is a predominantly Muslim city, there are a fair number of Catholic Croats here, so Christmas does feature a bit and the stores have just started to get out their Christmas decorations. I have to admit that I find them a bit random and not totally to my taste. So, you can imagine how excited I was to come across a Christmas set of cookie cutters. 'YES!' I thought to myself 'we can make biscuits and decorations for the tree! Perfect!. Here they are, our new cookie cutters all nicely looped together on a special metal holder, looking good (ps how do you like the view through our kitchen window - full of rain today, but it was snowing yesterday, which would have made a much more Christmassy picture).

Here are the individual cutters. A Christmas tree. Looking fine and most Christmassy.

A shooting star and a moon. Pretty cool.

A bell and a star. I'm liking it, I'm liking it. We can do something with these.

And finally, the last cookie cutter in the Christmas pack which somewhat took me by surprise. After all, I did think that the whole point of Christmas was that there wasn't one of these.

Heh heh heh.

Makeovers

2009-11-09T09:47:00.004+01:00

I've been in a bit of a bleh recently. Call it the arrival of winter with cold and mud and the need to be inside a lot more. Call it having a lot of work to do and not the energy or impetus to get started. Call it the arrival of the annual winter shoe dilemma - summer sandals so easy, winter shoes, well, I never find any that I like and actually want to wear. Anyhow, I decided that I needed a new look. A make-over. Something to lift me out of the blahs and into the yays! As I can't fit into any of the clothes that they sell here (being just ever so slightly larger than the microscopic size 8 (US 4) that all Bosnian women appear to be), a new look for my blog is the closest that I get to a new image. So, here we are, unveiling it now. Do you like it?

I've also been busy hosting people who are new to Bosnia over the last week. They were surprised by the country, it wasn't anything like they thought it would be. I suspect they were expecting something from TV in the early 1990s; refugees, mud and bad early 1990s haircuts (conveniently forgetting their own bad early 1990s haircuts) and big men in uniforms. But the war finished nearly 14 years ago and Bosnians have gone back to their proper lives. The country is far removed from its war time image. I feel that perhaps it is not just me needing an image overhaul. So, to celebrate the new Brits In Bosnia look is my attempt to reset a (very) few people's perception of the country I present 5 things about Bosnia that may surprise you with apologies to readers in Bosnia who already know all of this (and please do add comments should you feel that I have missed anything out).

1. The Bosnians are glamorous. Not just a little bit glamorous but really, really glamorous. They have style (a tad Russian Oligarch girlfriend for my liking if I am being brutally honest) and they are not afraid to dress up. The women are slim, tall with legs that go on for months. They are made up, coiffured (it is not for nothing that there are more hairdressers near us than, well, anything else). They walk with elegance and they are out to be seen. The men are also pretty groomed. No one goes out without looking their best. This makes it interesting for me at picking the boys up from nursery. The other Mummys are yummy. Very yummy. I'm usually wondering what happened to my hair brush, have just about found a pair of matching shoes and have some of yesterdays dinner smeared onto my clothes somewhere. I so let the side down. Luckily I get away with it for being British and perpetuating the idea that we are a nation of bad food and slightly bizarre characters.

2. There may well be areas of the country which are predominantly Muslim, but this is not a state dominated by Islam. I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen a fully covered woman in Bosnia. There are a fair few who wear a headscarf and who also have the most amazingly beautiful clothes and always look amazing (see point 1 above). Most people seem to be Muslim in the same way that I am Christian, in other words it informs my culture but not very active on the actually going to worship front. Alcohol is widely available and consumed freely and with enthusiasm by pretty much everyone, Muslim or not. The Bosnians don't go in for the enormous mosques prevalent in the Middle East, their mosques are small, intimate, very much for local communities and terribly pretty.

3. It is a beautiful country. There are rivers, forests and mountains and huge areas of natural space that have been virtually untouched. It has the last remaining primeval forest in Europe. It really is a place to go if you want get out, into the wilderness. All I can say is that you should go and look at the website for Green Visions who organise eco-tours of BiH (and lobby the Bosnian politicians to encourage them to protect their natural environment). There is Olympic standard skiing here, on 2 different mountains; Jahorina and Bjelasnica both only 20 minutes from Sarajevo. The natural parks are spectacular, the rivers wild, the country green.

4. Sarajevo is a great city. It has a world famous film festival every August. It has jazz festivals, winter festivals and music festivals. It is so great that it has actually been names as one of the Lonely Planet's Best in Travel 2010 Top 10 Cities. Whilst we are talking top 10 lists, eating lamb off the spit over looking the emerald green Neretva river just outside of Jablanica has also been claimed to be one of the top 10 dining experiences you will ever have. I can't find that list now, but I promise you, the lamb is awesome. Tuzla, you know I love you, but I can't quite put you as one of the top 10 list of anything, but your new Square which some people have claimed will be one of the most visited squares in Europe is pretty good. I have to say you have some competition with that particular claim, but no doubt about it, trg Sloboda* is a fine place to watch the Tuzlans go by, strutting their stuff and looking most fine.

5. Bosnia is European. It was obviously strongly influenced by the Ottoman Empire and as such there are a number of times when the country looks almost Turkish, but the buildings are Austro Hungarian. The country looks and feels like Europe. Eastern Europe certainly, especially when you find yourself in an area with a particularly communist feel to it, but it is most definitely and unmistakenly Europe.

*I think this is a web cam for trg Sloboda. If you click on it and happen to see 2 small boys on scooters and a particularly harassed bag lady pursuing them, that is probably us. We'll try to wave.

Lost in Translation

2009-11-06T10:50:00.005+01:00

A little while back The Potty Diaries ran a great post detailing the differences between what you say and what you mean. You know those times when you say 'no problem' when actually it is been a massive pain in the backside or 'no, really, it's fine' when it so isn't.

These Lost In Translation moments are just magnified when you have children ('come along now darling!' actually meaning we've been here looking at that squished bug for 20 minutes and we have to get home pretty soon as I've something in the oven and my brain is contorting with having the same conversation with a toddler 50 times in the last 10 minutes). And then there are the misunderstandings that come from not actually speaking the language of the country in which you live moments too.

Anyhow, here are a few of my what I said and what it actually meant moments. Feel free to add some of your own.

To my children: 'it's ok, I'll take your back pack for you' = can you not see how much I'm already carrying? I've got 2 scooters, a back pack, my bag, a dog on a lead and I need 2 hands free to hold you two whilst crossing the road. Why didn't you leave your sodding backpack in the car like I told you to?

To the local police force who have just pulled me over: 'ne razumijem (I don't understand)' = I understand you well enough but if you want to pull over a car with English Licence plates for no reason whatsoever then you had better be able to speak enough English to explain why.

To my children: 'Won't playing Snakes and Ladders be such fun!' = I hate this bloody game. It is one of the most dull board games ever invented. I can't wait for you to be old enough to get involved in some decent board games and play cards properly too. Then we'll have fun.

To Nursery: 'Oh, so you've changed Luke's trousers because they got a tiny microscopic splash of water on them?' = Have you not seen my laundry pile??? These trousers aren't even wet. There is a one outfit of clothes per day rule in this house, however dirty they get, unless there is vomit, poo or are totally sodden. This doesn't even come close to qualifying!

To the ladies in the bakers: 'Ha ha ha!' = I have absolutely no idea what you just said. But you were definitely just talking about my husband, and I think you mentioned sex so I totally don't want to know what you are asking. I'll just smile, laugh a bit and hope to get out of here before you try to continue this conversation.

To any visitors: 'I think we've run out of Poppadoms' = They are ours! All ours! We don't hand them out to anyone, particularly those who might not appreciate how nice they are. Get your mitts off them and don't even think about coming close to the mango chutney.

To my children: 'What happened in here?' = Bloody Hell! it looks like a bomb exploded in here! How is it possible to make so much mess in the time it took me to pop to the loo. I should have known you were up to something when I wasn't disturbed for the whole loo moment. How on earth am I going to get nail varnish off the walls?

To the Primary Schools Admissions Teams in the UK: 'Yes, I know that we applied last year for entry this year, but the situation has changed and we don't actually live in the UK at the moment and I am informing you of our future plans.' = Are you seriously telling me that every person who has ever had a child that was sent to primary school has only ever moved house over the summer and has never been in a different school system? Life has a tendency not to fit in with your regulations so just deal with it and be thankful that I am calling you early to discuss this rather than phoning you and wanting a place in the next month. By the way, is being particularly difficult and a real jobsworth a prerequisite to employment in the council or have I just been unlucky in my dealings with you all?

To the Bosnian Authorities: 'which piece of paper is it that you need stamped again?' = **%%*^&E$$$*&$*$*&"&£*&£$(%$(£&!

To my children: 'No you can't have any chocolate, it's just before dinner and it isn't good for you' = it's mine, all mine.

To Adam: 'Yes, vegetables are really good for you, they are what Sporticus likes to eat. No, there aren't any vegetables in this tomato sauce' = There so are veggies in that sauce, but I have blitzed them into a creamy state in a hopeless attempt to get something healthy into you, but you don't appear to be buying into this idea. Just eat the bloody food will you, it does actually taste really good. Thank God for Lukey tucking into his no problem otherwise I really would be worrying about my ability to cook anything at all.

To Dave: 'I think I'm just a bit tired.' = I'm absolutely shattered and am hoping that is why I am behaving like a total witch rather than because I am a total witch.

To the boys: 'Just do what I say' = just do what I say. Preferably RIGHT NOW, before I have to ask you for the thousandth time in 5 minutes and before I lose the plot completely. Generally it is to stop you from hurting yourself, your brother or me, occasionally it is to stop you breaking something that isn't ours. But life would be a lot easier if you just did it. First time of asking.

Anyone else got some to add?

The Red Red Tape Series

2009-11-05T09:23:00.004+01:00

There aren't many things that I can say that I am an expert on. My chocolate brownies are really awesome (email me for the recipe). I have a specialised knowledge of which toys can be thrown furthest and do the most damage to the walls. I am extremely good at getting the maximum discounts in any sales that TOAST do (80% off people, expect nothing less). And now I have a new speciality: Bosnian Bureaucracy. Or more specifically Bosnian bureaucracy pertaining to expats. In Tuzla. It's a skill I shall be adding to my CV.

Dave keeps mentioning that I ought to write a post detailing the steps that need to be taken to obtain visas and import cars into this country. We would have found something like that really useful. But the thing is, it just doesn't make for very interesting reading. There is only so many times that I can write about the times we went to the police station and had to wait for hours and the boys went a bit loopy and ran dementedly up and down the corridors only to be told off by grumpy men who have nothing better to do than drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. There isn't much of a post in we took every single piece of documentation that we have to the notary and parted with a lot of money to get something stamped, only to have to do it again for a different ministry 2 weeks later. There have been some real high (low) lights of this process; our trip to the hospital to get the medical tests and the battle with the bureaucrats over our birth certificates both merited posts all of their own.

The most recent clash with the system has been getting our car temporarily imported. This has involved a trip to the nearest border (and associated 3 hour wait), a separate trip to a specialised import place which showed me a whole new part of Tuzla that I never even knew existed and surrendering all our documents to the police whilst we wait for the final licence plates to arrive (and being told that we are not to drive the car outside of Tuzla town until we get the documents back). We worked out the other day that it would have cost us less money AND taken less time to drive to the UK, re-register the car there and drive back to Tuzla. And we could have loaded the car up with chocolate hobnobs and mango chutney whilst we were at it.

Finally though, finally, we have heard that our new Bosnian plates are ready. I just have to go and pick them up. And that will be it. We have all the documentation that we need. It has only taken us 15 months of constant work to do it, but we defeated them in the end. This was great news and we may have been spotted dancing about the house last night singing Red Red Tape in the style of UB40, whilst waving around glasses of the more appropriate red wine in excitement. I'm not holding my breath just yet, we still need to get the actual plates on the car and there is always the Bosnian capacity to throw a final spanner into the works just when you think you have made it, but we are hopeful, nay giddy with excitement at the prospect of reaching the end of this road.

Everything expires in February. We have to start the whole process again after Christmas.

PS - if anyone reading this does want more information on importing a car into Bosnia, obtaining a Bosnian Residency Visa, setting up a company in BiH feel free to email me. We feel your pain already.

To blog or not to blog.

2009-11-02T09:32:00.006+01:00

Life as an expat can be a lonely one. Particularly if you are at home with 2 small children to look after for much of the day and don't totally understand the culture in which you find yourself. Even more so if, although you speak Bosnian up to a point, it is nowhere near the standard needed for anyone to enjoy a relaxing conversation with you without having to concentrate very hard and wincing occasionally. There aren't many other expats in Tuzla, let alone expat families, let alone expat families with 2 children in the same age range as my two.

It is safe to say that I spend a lot of time on my own with my boys. There isn't much else to do around here, so we are at home at home. Organised activities for children are few and far between. No playgroups, music classes or jungle gyms for us here (at least that I have been able to find out about). The playgrounds are tiny and badly maintained and inevitably just a bit scary for a mother with two adventurous climbing little boys. We've just entered the season of mud meaning that every time we go out there is a World War 1 battlefield mudfest outside (and shortly afterwards inside too). We do know other people, Bosnians, with similar aged children but they all work full time, making arranging play dates difficult to do during the week. Other friends, without kids of their own, also come round on a fairly regular basis and we do really enjoy it, but nothing is quite like having other children of a similar age for the boys to play with.

Every now and then I read a post with envy, people say things like 'for once, we didn't have any organised play activities this afternoon'. I am desperate for some organised play activity, it would be wonderful. Organised play activities serve many purposes. We get out of the house. There are other adults there. The boys get a chance to do something different. And when we get back to the house, there are all the toys etc. that haven't been played with for a while so are interesting again.

Anyway, this isn't intended to be a post that waffles on forever about how hard it is not to have other Mummy mates. I've actually got used to it. We all have. I'm much better and more resourceful and working out things for us to do during the week, and the boys are that much older making it easier for me to find things for us to do too. No, what this post is all about is the importance of blogging to someone who is quite isolated, like me.

There has been a whole load of stuff written in the last week about Mummy Blogging. Is it too competitive? Too commercial? People are not enjoying their blogs, agonising over whether accepting advertising and reviews is selling out or not. So I wanted to wade in with my size 10s (actually size 7 and currently clad in some rather funky flower print trainers which I like very much, but I digress) and stick up a great big banner and shout from the rooftops 'WHAT MAKES BLOGGING BRILLIANT IS THE COMMUNITY!'.

I started blogging in June 2008, primarily to keep family and friends up to date with what we are up to, and to stop having to write the same emails to different people over and over again. This is my 280th post. I found that I enjoyed it. I really enjoyed it. Eventually I found the British Mummy Bloggers group and joined it out of interest. Suddenly there were all these other Mummys, writing, online about their experiences. I found myself potty training alongside Maternal Tales and Moaning Mum. It was wonderful to be able to share poo horror stories with them and get some support to push through the worst of that particularly joyous time of bringing up children. Now I'm trying to stop everyone peeing outside all the time (triggered by the wee race the boys had over the fence as a funeral cortege was making their dignified procession from the mosque next to our house) and am finding that Single Parent Dad has got similar problems. Some bloggers have got terrific ideas for things to do, Zoe Toft providing the idea for today's activity, making penguins.

I also found that the blogging community engages in blogs by leaving comments. I know that some of my family and friends read it (Mum tends to call me up after reading in order to discuss the days post, my mother in law amazes her son by knowing more about what the boys are up to than he does), but they tend not to comment. It is the other bloggers who comment and start a bit of a dialogue. For me, who can be feeling very alone and far away, this dialogue, two way conversation and individual connection to others is immensely rewarding. I read their blogs, they (occasionally) come and read mine. I know what is happening in their lives. It is my coffee moment, the time when I share experiences and feel a part of a community.

So, although I can see why people might feel that blogging is little like the old school playground where there are a few big cool kids who know everyone, who might come and talk to you or who might not. But, these kids are now all grown-up, and don't behave like kids can do. I have found the community to be kind and immensely supportive. I can see why people find blogging competitive or have a perception that it is all about the freebies (or looking down on those who take up the freebie offers). But like all things, blogging is what you make of it. I know why I blog, it is because I love that community, I love feeling connected to other people and I really enjoy writing my posts. The freebies, well no one wants to send them to Bosnia anyway, and as Susanna in A Modern Mother mentioned in her post on the topic, no one is going to get rich blogging. The 'best of' lists? Always nice to be mentioned but they don't actually mean anything.

This is not to say that I haven't had my moments wondering what the hell I am doing with this blog. It is time consuming and I have more than enough work to do as it is. Then there is the on-going identity crisis: am I a Mummy blog? An expat blog? A blog about Bosnia? Who knows, who cares? I am what I feel like being at that particular moment. I enjoy blogging, I enjoy writing about what I want to write about and I enjoy the feeling of being a part of a community. I hope that the others who are in more of a quandary will find their way to enjoy their blogs too.

Dear So and So: Bosnian Version Part VI

2009-10-30T09:30:00.005+01:00

It's been a while since my last Dear So and So, but it is a miserable dank damp day outside and writing some always cheer me up. So, my pen is out, I have postcards with pretty pictures of Tuzla assembled and away we go.

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Dear Outside Dog,

I have no idea where you go all day, but I'm always pleased to feel you curling around my legs at dinner time as I tend to worry that you have become today's road kill. Everyone else teases me for making you a hot water bottle every night to keep you warm, but I think you like it. You'll never be an inside dog, your stray mentality is too strongly entrenched, but I love having you around. Plus you are a much better guard dog than that great big wussy Golden Retriever that lives here all the time.

Yours, with an extra large piece of off-cut meat,
Fraught Mummy x

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Dear Adam,

You are ever so clever for putting on your PJ's all by yourself. But was it totally necessary to announce straight afterwards that 'I don't need Mummy any more' . Daggers to the heart. Ice cold daggers.

Your suddenly panicking about my big growing up boy Mummy xxx

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Dear PhD Supervisor,

I'm looking forward to you coming out to visit next week. Obviously I have been doing far too much blogging and not nearly enough work, but I'm hoping by dazzling you with Bosnia you might not notice. But, if you don't bring a box of tea bags with you, you do run a strong risk of being left to fend for yourself on a snowy mountainous road in the Republika Srpska. Just saying.

Your errant student,
FM

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Dear Bosnian Car Import authorities,

There is no other way to say this. I have said it to you many times. So here we go again. THE BRITISH CAR AUTHORITIES DON'T ISSUE CAR EXPORT CERTIFICATES. This doesn't change however much you ask me for it. We are only trying to temporarily import the car. You have got 6,000KM of my money held hostage until we re-export it. I have spent HOURS of my life hanging around several different customs offices trying to keep small children amused and out of trouble. Trust me, if we didn't HAVE to import the car, we wouldn't be. So give us the bloody Bosnian plates and I'll keep out of your hair until we leave the country.

Yours, seriously blowing a gasket and with a genuine worry for my blood pressure,
FM

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Dear Tuzla Police,

Given the difficulties we are having in trying to comply with your laws (see previous postcard) was it really necessary to order that the car is only able to drive within the confines of the city of Tuzla? We can't even go to visit some friends in the countryside 15 minutes drive away. How long is this going to go on for? I've got myself some serious cabin fever going on. Please can someone give us the goddamn bloody licence plates!

Yours, having taken to hissing at the police station every time we drive past,
FM

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Dear Market Stall holders,

I know that there are pumpkins here, because I can see them growing everywhere. I also know that most people only grow them to feed the pigs. But as it is very very nearly Halloween and I'd like to spend the afternoon carving pumpkins with the boys, could you please just find one or two to sell to us?

Yours, wanting to be all scary and spooky,
FM

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To all those PR people who write to me offering products to review,

It is always nice to receive an offer for something to review, and I always have a good look to see whether I want to do it. But, if I reply that I'm game, to then decide that you can't post the article to Bosnia is a bit poor. It shouldn't come as a total surprise that I'm based in Bosnia, did you look at the blog name before contacting me? And comments that you are worried about things getting lost in the post are such garbage - last time I looked it wasn't the Bosnian Postal system that was on strike.

Yours, confident that my postcards will reach you,
FM

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Dear smart Bosnian clothing stores in the centre of town,

How can you charge so much for your clothes? My eyes water every time I see your prices, they'd be expensive in the UK, let alone here. And your sales are rubbish. 10% simply doesn't constitute a sale. I'm looking for 50% at least.

Yours, still needing another jumper,
FM

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Dear cheaper Bosnian clothing stores,

You totally believe in pile em high and sell them cheap (or at least cheaper). But trying to find something that fits my children when I can't see my children as they have disappeared under the piles of strewn about clothing is very tricky.

Yours, unable to take the pressure of stopping the boys manically jumping on everything in your stores, FM

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Dear Boys,

I've really been enjoying the last couple of days with you. The fighting doesn't seem as bad, the screaming and shrieking a bit less frequent and we've come up with some good games. My favourite has been wriggling around on the floor with straws in our mouths pretending to be divers. I'm starting to feel a bit less freaked about the long, cold, dark winter months ahead. You two, well you two are absolutely great.

Love you so much,
Mummy xxx

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Want a go yourself? Head on over to Kat's 3 Bedroom Bungalow to add your name to the list. It's like therapy but better.

Happy Machines

2009-10-28T10:04:00.007+01:00

The other weekend we spent a very pleasant afternoon in the company of a Happy Machine (a Bosnian still for making plum brandy for the uninitiated amongst you). It was rather late in the year as everyone felt a little guilty about making very strong alcohol during Ramadan, but no one seemed to be having too much guilt about drinking large quantities of the stuff immediately afterwards.

The men sat around stirring the plums, sterilizing the machine, bringing it all to the boil, watching it condense down, measuring the alcohol content with a whizzy little gadget that floats in the liquor and tasting it all to make sure it was all ok. We could see which the most important aspect of the process was judging by the amount of time spent tasting the output. The rest of us ate large quantities of food, the kids ran riot outside and life was good.

This brewing of the sljiva is an integral part of Bosnian culture (Muslims many of them may be, teetotal Muslims they are not). It is one of the autumnal rituals. The rumours that are running rife that the EU would ban the Happy Machines (bah humbug to the miserable fun stealing Brussels bureaucrats) are seriously testing Bosnians desire to join the Europe. I think most sane countries have banned the stills years ago, but this doesn't appear to deter the Bosnians. Apparently those who have emigrated to other European countries still manage to get their fix, just making sure the brewing happens indoors behind drawn curtains.

Dave loves this part of being in Bosnia. He looks forward to a Happy Machine afternoon, even though he doesn't really like the end result. I hadn't really paid much attention to this interest, right up the point I discovered him in the supermarket supposedly shopping for milk and cheese gazing covetously at and seriously considering buying a brand new still. A snip at only 2,400KM (1,200Euros).

Happily we remain Happy Machine-less after some fast talking on my part and a reality check on the state of our bank account on his. May we go to many more afternoons where the brandy is brewed, but I'm not Bosnian enough to want it happening in my garage.

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If you've had enough sljiva and are feeling brave enough, then make straight for the brilliant Hot Cross Mum's Halloween Best of British Mummy Blogging Carnival

Bosnia, back in the spotlight.

2009-10-26T09:35:00.004+01:00

Today is supposed to mark the start of the trial of Radovan Karadzic, accused of 11 counts of genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity. Undoubtedly there will be twists and turns, Karadzic will be playing the International Criminal Court for all he is worth. He is unlikely to turn up, will refuse to recognise the courts jurisdiction, will claim he hasn't had enough time to prepare his defence and will be doing all in his power to discredit the court and drag the trial out indeterminably.

I will write a post at some point talking about the trial and how people feel about it here. It is, as you can imagine, a contentious issue. Some people passionately feel that the trial is needed; to establish what happened, to create a legally recognised truth that can't be twisted by every side to suit its own agendas. Others feel that it is important that those responsible for creating the events of the 1992-95 conflict are held to account, made to take responsibility for their actions. On the other hand there are some who would rather that the events of the war were placed firmly in the past, and who wonder if whether another trial highlighting Srebrenica and the siege of Sarajevo serves to keep Bosnia firmly orientated towards its conflict years, preventing them from looking towards the future. Of course there are also those who vehemently protest against the proceedings, claiming them to be unfair and illegitimate.

But the start of the trial, coming as it does as the various political Bosnian leaders are trying (or not trying so much) to establish how the country can move forward out of the political molasses pit that they seem to have found themselves in, will put Bosnia back onto the global news agenda. Whilst most people here think that the articles in The Telegraph and Time Magazine claiming that Bosnia is once again on the brink of war, to be an exaggeration of the situation and a strategic move by the internatinal community to put pressure upon the Bosnian politicians, there is definitely a sense that this is a crucial moment in post war Bosnia. Suddenly people who usually ignore the political shenanigans are talking about it. There are rumours about some people rearming themselves (but then again, there are always rumours about people rearming themselves).

These next couple of months will be interesting times for Bosnia. And now I am starting to understand why it is that the Chinese saying 'may you live in interesting times' is understood to be a curse.

24 Hours: Tuzla

2009-10-23T10:17:00.003+02:00

A new guide book for London is coming out in the next few weeks, showing ideas for stuff to do for each hour. Called 24 Hours: London - an insiders guide to London's Best Kept Secrets, the idea is that it will give you ideas for things to do at a given hour. So, 4pm tea at the Ritz, 10pm dancing stupidly outside a nightclub in South Kensington, 2am hunting for food down the Fulham Rd. That sort of thing.

The idea got picked up by Mike from Postcards Across the Pond, who wrote his own personal 24 hour guide for Horsham. Horsham wasn't quite as busy as London, but there was a lot to do if you are out and about in Horsham, as long as it involves pubs or parks.

So I thought I'd give this a go. Noone writes guide books for Tuzla. Even the official Bosnia guide book says, somewhat diplomatically, that this area isn't really set up for tourism. So, here we go, the 24 hour guide for Tuzla. (readers who know Tuzla, feel free to point out which amazing Tuzla experiences I've missed in the comments section)

5am: All quiet, except the yowling of the stray dogs. Stay in bed and put duvet over head to try and drown out the sound.

6am: At some point during this hour the early morning call to prayer will go off. People start to get up, but I advise remaining in bed with duvet over head.

7am: Everyone up and about and off to work. Many people haven't had any coffee yet, so strongly advise not making contact with anyone until they have had their caffeine hit.

8am: Office hours start at 8am. Things start to open. Pop into a bakers to pick up some pastries, chocolate and jam are widely available. The bread is also freshly baked and excellent.

9am: Venture out into town. Pop into a cafe to plan your day. Coffee, in the form of espresso will be available wherever you are. If you are feeling braver ask for a kafa domaci, which is like a Turkish coffee, complete with turbo fuelled sludge at the bottom. Drink it black and very sweet.

10am: Remember that you have some outstanding bureaucratic issues to deal with. You are in Bosnia after all and your stay is not complete if you do not do battle with bureaucracy somewhere. Find appropriate ministry and enter. Leave shortly afterwards as everyone is on a 'pauza' and having coffee.

11am: Head for a stroll in the centre of town. The new square, trg sloboda (Freedom Square) is a very pleasant place to sit by the fountain under the tree and watch the town pass by. If you are lucky you may see a wedding spilling out of the registry office, with all the brass bands, photo sessions and throwing of money before the drama moves on elsewhere. Then, move along past the cafes and down the pedestrainised Korzo.

12pm: Attempt to complete bureaucratic procedure. Everyone now having lunch. Go to the market instead and browse all sorts of things from mobile phone covers to jeans to fruit and honey.

1pm: Lunch. Should the weather be agreeable do find a restaurant which allows you to sit outside. The restaurant Krcma, near Trg Sloboda is a great place. Cheap and quick, but serves good food whilst sitting outside on wooden benches. It is all pedestrianised to small children can run rampant outside without causing too much trouble. Although do try to prevent them running into the nearby mosque (which is beautiful) as this is not a good thing.

2pm: Head out to the park Slana Banja on the north side of town. The new playground is now open, but muddy. The park itself has some great views over the town as well as some good clay tennis courts.

3pm: Wander down to the Pannonika Lakes (newly built salt water lakes) for a swim. If you are here during winter these will be shut, but they may have erected an ice skating rink and trampolines instead.

4pm: Head up to the park of Ilincica up on the hills to the south of the city. Here the woods have a certain mystical quality to them, but beware the epic amounts of rubbish that blight this beautiful place.

5pm: It has been at least 3 hours since you had coffee. How are you still standing? Find a cafe, any cafe and reinject yourself with caffiene. A good one to go to is the one by the pedestrian bridge over the river/sludge fest ditch which also serves good cakes.

6pm: Take a pause. Everyone else will be.

7pm: Get ready to go out. The look in this town is all about glamour. Your heels must be high, your hair sorted, your make-up on (and boys, you need to look good too).

8pm: Join the crowds strolling along the Korzo. Stop off at a cafe there for a pre-dinner drink and watch and be watched.

9pm: Decide what sort of food you are after. If it is traditional Bosnian then I'd recommend the Biblioteka restaurant otherwise think pizza and join the debate on whether it is Heartland or Dalma who make the best pizzas in town.

10pm: Head down to see if they have any live music in the Salt Square and linger. Lingering is a national pastime. Don't be afraid to nurse a drink for hours.

11pm: Head to the cafes just off the Korzo or to Cafe Sydney near the National Theatre. Alternatively buy yourself something to drink and join the youth of the city by the Jala (river/sludge fest mentioned earlier).

12am: Wonder where to go next. Walk around a lot trying to get in contact with other people in Tuzla. Eventually decide to go to The Underground. It will be packed, loud and the music a mix of Bosnian and English language covers. There will be lots of cigarette smoking. There will be lots of beer. There will be lots of singing along badly to the music. It's fun. Recommended.

1am: Try out Jazz for a smaller, more intimate venue, which is also in a cellar, with live (usually acoustic) music, chain smokers and lots of beer.

2am: This is Tuzla, everything shuts now unless you know someone who knows someone.

3am: Head home. Watch Turbo folk on TV and drink beer and plum brandy.

4am: You are still awake? How? More Turbofolk, beer and sljiva. Now go to sleep. You have more coffee to drink tomorrow.

Anyone else fancy giving it their hometown a 24 Guide makeover? Take up the meme, and make sure you let Marsha (the author of the original book) know as she is putting together a list of these guides.

Car Karma

2009-10-22T09:43:00.005+02:00

This morning, pre coffee (which may have been a key factor) I loaded the boys into the car to take them to nursery, reversed out of the drive and straight into a passing van.

The van driver (fortunately ever such a nice man) got out and inspected the impact. Not much damage done, a good old fashioned scrape down the side of the van and a right old prang to our bumper. We looked at each other and agreed it wasn't worth getting the police involved. This was a good thing, getting the police involved is a long and painful process that usually entails paying money somewhere. Van man called his boss who appeared shortly. We all looked. Stood around. Stroked our chins and sucked our teeth. The car repair place just up the road appeared. More standing around, more stroking of chins.

Then an offer. For friendship. 50 Euros and, as they say here, to je to (that is that).

Done. Handed over the cash and all off we all went on our merry way, me slightly feeling that I got off lightly.

Dave's take on the whole scenario was an example of how to receive the news that your wife has pranged the car.

He reminded me of the time when an American soldier in SFOR (the previous peace keeping force in Bosnia) driving that huge truck rolled back and hit the front of the Clio (our previous car when we were last living in Bosnia; its smallness indicating it was from the pre-children era). He gave us 100 Euro for the dent in the bonnet. We, not being in the least bit car proud, never got round to fixing it and the dent remained until we sold the car a couple of years later.

'So' said Dave 'the way I see it is that we are still 50 Euros up on the car karma front'.

Is everything falling apart?

2009-10-20T10:45:00.003+02:00

Enough already. I've been reading some of what the commentators have to say about Bosnia following the Daily Telegraph's article saying that Bosnia 'on brink of new civil war'. It seems that everyone is saying that Bosnia is about to fall apart. As I type there are big high level talks going on in Sarajevo where very important people are trying to get the politicians to agree to some small constitutional reforms. These are apparently not going very well (Bosnia's crucial talks hit a snag) and the only thing that everyone agrees on is that they are not going to adopt the reforms that are being suggested. Good to know it is possible to have everyone agreeing on something. The Bosnian Muslim leaders are predicting a return to violence within the year if things continue as they are. The Foreign Affairs magazine agrees, with headlines that proclaiming The Death of Dayton (the peace agreement that ended the conflict in 1995).

None of this makes for good reading. But as I read it, I can't help but feel that I am reading about somewhere else. It just doesn't seem quite possible that this country that is on the brink of collapse is the same country as the one that I am living in. People are going about the day to day life without too much worry. They are used to the posturing of politicians and the international community and see it as being another episode of political bang drumming and chest beating, making themselves look strong and powerful, particularly against the bullying of the international community. There isn't any talk of people stock piling goods (which did happen when Kosovo declared independence as people genuinely were worried about what the effects would be here). In fact, no one seems to be paying that much attention to the politicians at all.

Day to day life is carrying on. People are still tending their gardens, going out for a drink in cafes, buying music and listening to concerts, watching the football, doing all that, well, normal stuff. Stuff that everyone in Europe does. They moan about the economy (which is a mess) and the bureaucracy (don't start me on it) and talk about how cold it is for the time of year. It just doesn't feel like a country on the verge of conflict. I agree with the one positive article that I have seen about Bosnia from the European Stability Initiative, who point out that whilst Bosnia is a long way from perfect it has made enormous strides over the last couple of months. It seems that this wave of pessimism about Bosnia is becoming self perpetuating.

I can't see how Bosnia will return to war. There is no appetite for it all amongst the general population, who fully know how damaging it can be. I can't see how Serbia or Croatia would have the inclination to back it. That is not to say that there won't be violence, I think a flare up somewhere is a possibility, but to spread to full on conflict, I really don't think it will happen.

But I am reminded of a coffee I had not so long ago with a man who had recently returned to his home close to the Serbian border. We were sitting by the Drina river, enjoying a long afternoons sunset, with people swimming and canoeing beside us and fisherman just a little further upstream. It was pleasant, warm and the atmosphere was happy. He was talking about the war in 1992. 'You have no idea.' he said 'One day we were sitting here with our neighbours, drinking coffee just like we are today. The next day we were at war. We had no idea it was coming.'

Things I have said to my husband*

2009-10-19T10:59:00.007+02:00

The scene: Domestic bliss. I've just started cooking dinner, just popped down to the shops to pick up some onions and veg and am cutting chicken. The boys and their Daddy are upstairs splashing around in the bath. All is well with the world on a Sunday evening.

Cut to squawks and screams from upstairs. Mainly from the adult.

- everything alright darling?
- I can't hear you!
- No I can't come upstairs, I'm in the middle of cooking.
- Luke's done a poo?
- In the bath?
- what do you expect me to do about it? I'm in the middle of cooking.
- can't you just clean it up?
- are the boys out of the bath?
- yes, well done for wiping his bottom.
- it's still floating in the bath?
- ok, I didn't need to know that it was a sinker and not a floater.
- is it in one piece?
- what do you mean you want me to clean it up. I'm in the middle of cooking and I've got chicken all over my hands.
- why can't you clean it up?
- what's it worth?
- yes you can finish the cooking.
- and do the washing up.
- for a week.
- what do you mean you don't know how to clean up the poo?
- get a plastic bag and some bathroom cleaner.
- could you make more of a song and dance out of it?
- alright! I can't stand it any longer. I'll do it.
- yes you should put the boys pjs on. I'm in the bathroom cleaning up poo.
- and give them their milk.
- ok, everything is clean.
- yes I did scrub the bath.
- what do you mean the flannel was in the water?
- the toys were in the water too?
- why didn't you mention this before I came downstairs and started cooking again?
- washing up for a week.
- seriously.

*with thanks to Millenium Housewife, who pioneered the 'things I said to...' genre

Wooden Weddings

2009-10-16T09:23:00.004+02:00

Today is our wedding anniversary. Five years ago today (five years! already?) we stood up in front of friends and family and promised to love and honour each other for as long as we both shall live. Then we popped round the corner to the village hall and had a really cracking party, with lots of food (cottage pie and blackberry & apple crumble), plenty of drink and some really fabulously terrible dancing.

It was a classic English wedding. The weather was dreadful but it didn't matter. The traffic had grid locked and half the guests didn't make it to the church on time. There were scenes of people, in full wedding gear, sprinting down the road from the nearest tube station, a good 2 miles away. Others had to get changed in the graveyard, ducking behind the largest tombstone they could find. One American visitor at her first English wedding having surveyed the mayhem was heard to comment, 'this is brilliant, totally out of Four Weddings and a Funeral' and then proceeded to wander around looking for Hugh Grant for the rest of the evening. My brothers sang our first song (Van Morrison's Crazy Love for those interested) and they totally rocked. I was newly pregnant, but no one knew. No one that is except for the people Dave had gone out with 2 nights earlier and had told by mistake after a beer too many. We danced and danced, and laughed and ate and drank and my hair completely collapsed from its original elegance, but I couldn't have given a hoot. I was getting married to the love of my life (cliche, but true) and I could not have been happier.

Five years on here we are. 2 children, one dog and in Bosnia. We're so lucky. I'm as in love with Dave today as I was when we got married. He is my partner in life and adventures, and we have so much that we still want to do together. I still fancy him as much as I ever did and he still makes me laugh. Obviously, as with all married couples, we have our ups and downs. He is lucky that I find cold hands in bed funny and he could try to learn that there is no magic fairy that puts dirty clothes into the laundry basket. I could try to remember that he isn't my own personal on call IT helpdesk. That sort of thing. But in the big things, the things that actually matter we support each other. We have worked out how to sit down and talk to each other about problems that have arisen, the little scraps and scrapes ironing themselves out that way. Most importantly, we've got two lovely happy little boys and we feel that we are really enjoying our lives, doing what we want to do, trying out what we want to try and just giving things a go and seeing where they lead us. If the two boys learn one thing from us, I hope that it is that.

Bosnia is a special place for us. Just a few months after we started going out, I needed to come to Bosnia to do some research for a Masters Thesis. Almost flippantly (but secretly hopefully) I asked Dave if he wanted to come too. He handed in the notice on his apartment the very next day. The rest, as they say, is history. Six months later we got engaged in Sarajevo at an old Turkish fort which sits above the city, overlooking the valley in which Sarajevo is situated.

Still, I can't believe it has been five years since we got married. I looked it up and it is our Wood Anniversary today. Wish I could say that I've been whittling something special over the last few months, but blatantly I haven't. Wonder if a cardboard castle would count? We've arranged to go out tonight and we may not be able to resist the urge to celebrate in the traditional Bosnian fashion; putting white ribbons on the car, hanging flags out of the windows and driving round town beeping our horn. Where's that English flag gone?

Here Comes Winter. Bring It ON!

2009-10-14T09:48:00.004+02:00

It is officially the end of summer. The end of warm weather and playing outside all afternoon. The end of laundry drying in an hour (and there's barely any laundry anyway, a couple of shorts and the odd t-shirt). It is the start of the mud fest, both in and outside the house. It is the start of needing to find shoes, socks, jumpers, coats, hats, scarves and gloves and get them onto 2 small wriggly boys every single time we go outside. It is the start of Everest style piles of additional laundry which takes weeks to dry. It is the start of very dry chapped hands which no amount of hand cream can sort out. It is the start of indoor play, day in, day out.

I'm not pleased about winter.

It has arrived in a classically Bosnian style. On Friday we were frolicking around outside in shorts and t-shirts, temperatures were 30C (86F), way hotter than an English summer, and we thought about having a barbeque outside. Yesterday Sarajevo got snowed in, cutting off roads, electricity and phonelines. They had forecast the same for us, it has mercifully not appeared just yet, but it is cold enough for it. This sudden and dramatic fall in temperature is not unusual here. No wonder everyone gets sick.

Oh yes, winter has arrived.

But this year, we are ready for whatever winter wants to throw at us:

Winter tyres on the car? Check.

Snow Chains in the car? Check.

Emergency provisions - chocolate, crisps (I like to feed them healthy stuff), the odd packet of dried fruit in case we get caught in a snow storm and can't get out. Check.

Rugs, Blankets, extra jumpers and warm clothes in the back, again just in case we get caught in an unexpected blizzard? Check.

Radiators in the house all checked for faults? Check.

Municipality Heating on? Check - oh, yes, check, check, check - came on on Tuesday. I nearly cried with delight, we were going to be in for a chilly few days if they hadn't got it all sorted in time.

Plans for indoor activities? Check - although will probably only last for a week then we'll have to fly by the seat of our pants until we all get into the groove of indoor play. I'm still working out how I'm going to burn off the excess energy of two small boys in order to proceed with all the planned indoor activities, but I'm sure we'll work it out eventually.

Plans for outdoor activities? Check - the sledge is in the garage ready to go. Outdoor activities with snow not a problem, it is the piss awful filthy days when it is about 3C, raining, no sign of snow and noone in their right mind will think about venturing outside that are the problem.

Boots that are waterproof and can be worn in snow? Check - the obtaining of said boots deserves a post all of its own, but the end result is a check with two frazzled parents still in shock from the experience.

Summer Clothes packed away (bye bye small boy Crocs, I shall miss you, you are a lot easier than shoes, socks and boots). Check.

Winter Clothes unpacked? Check. How is it possible for the jumpers take up that much room in a cupboard?

Stockpiled Calpol/Calprufen? Check - not needed yet, but surely only a matter of time.

Extra brooms to give the boys to help brush up the mud bought into the house by boots and filthy muddy dog? Check.

Ok winter. Bring it on.

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A HUGE thank you to those who identified the random fruit given to us by the dear old biddy down the road, for a quince it was. And we made jam. And the jam? It is GOOOOOOD. I'm so excited as I've never made jam before. Anyone else finding themselves with a bit of left over quince should try this recipe for quince jam which was incredibly easy (a necessity for me, I'm no cook) and produces amazing jam.

Also, the Best of British Parent Bloggers Carnival is up over at Family Friendly Working, so get a cup of tea and settle in for more tales from the parenting front line.