In the last month or so Tuzla has been inundated with foreigners. In a car park the other day, I had a quick look around and realised that of the 15 or so cars parked under the trees, only one had a Bosnian licence plate. The rest were from Holland, France, Germany, Austria, Luxembourg, Sweden and the like.
These are not your normal holidaymakers. Love Tuzla as I do, I'd never call it a general holiday destination. You would only really come here if you have a reason. No, by and large these people are the diaspora, those who left Bosnia and now come 'home' once a year, usually during the ever so nice summer months. They come back for a holiday, to see family and friends, gorge themselves on the Bosnian specialities, hold barbecue after barbecue, sun themselves at the lake and generally have a fine old time.
Those who live here full time view them with mixed feelings. Many people grumble that they only come back to show off their big fancy cars and how much money they have. They definitely bring with them a holiday vibe and race around doing things they probably wouldn't do at home (stop racing about on your scooter without your helmet young man, believe it or not, there are laws here, and they don't include behaving like an idiot). But some of the resident Bosnians are jealous. Jealous of the money the diaspora appear to have, the lifestyle that they appear to represent. The diaspora certainly bring money with them; one village I know is hoping to rebuild their mosque based on donations from the diaspora returning this summer.
Irrespective of any jealous moments, everyone is delighted to see family again, and it is heart warming to see the grandmothers thrilled to be playing with their grandchildren, adult brothers and sisters hanging out together over a coffee or three. But their delight is tempered with a tinge of regret, a recognition, indeed acknowledgement that this level of displacement in a society is a sad reflection of the country's recent history.
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Friday, 28 August 2009
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
Mad Dogs and Englishmen (women and children)
It's all going a bit pear shaped in the Brit household.
I have a routine that I like and enjoy which is as English as it gets which goes something like this.
12-5pm: (once I have picked them up from nursery) various activities with the boys, outside as much as possible preferably running them into the ground. Luke isn't really doing naps any more so it is 5 hours of fun fun fun.
5pm - I start thinking about dinner. The TV can go on from this point, but in reality comes on when I have had enough and everyone is starting to kill each other. This can be as late as 6.30 but usually is around 5.30pm. I use the respite to cook dinner when I can concentrate on what I'm doing and not having to worry about stirring a cheese sauce whilst simultaneously refereeing the latest fight and acting as activity coordinator and retrieving toys thrown too high for them to reach.
6pm - dinner during which at some point Daddy normally reappears leading to much excitement and then more rampaging around the house.
6.30pm - bath, pyjamas, teeth, one last (calming) DVD, stories and bed. If I'm on my game it'll all be over by 7.30, sometimes stretching out as far as 8pm.
8pm - And relax: a glass of wine, The Archers (we are one hour ahead of UK time) and time to sit on the porch watching the rest of Bosnian society heading into town.
The Bosnians are true Europeans though. Their children nap in the afternoon up until the age of about 6 but don't go to bed until 10pm or later. For a long time I haven't able to understand this. But the latest bout of hot weather (it's been up to 40C here again) has shown me why this attitude makes a LOT of sense.
No one is outside between 12 and 4. No one. Absolutely not a soul. Sometimes it is just me, the boys and the dog. Wilting. So hot and sweaty and miserable. Even with SPF 50, sun suits, hats and the full British hot weather look, it is miserable. I have come to understand that just because there is blue sky outside doesn't mean that outside is the place to be. Obviously this goes against every English bone in my body. It still feels wrong to be inside when the weather outside looks so enticing.
But I have come to understand that it is best that the kids get their outdoors fix after 5pm. The temperature is so much more pleasant. Everyone else is out there too, so there are others to play with.
With this understanding has come a realisation that we will have to change our routine, for the summertime at least. Now, I'm pushing them to have a nap during the afternoon. Sit quietly. Maybe even put the DVD on (arrghgh, this seems so wrong, against my not before 5pm rule). Then, when the heat of the day has subsided we head on out for the outdoors fun at what should really be outdoors time.
This means bedtime has gone totally to pot. The other night they were still rocking at 10pm, and even being pretty good with it. I've had my moments of stressing about it. I certainly miss my evenings. But the whole of the rest of the day is so much less stressful and so much more fun that I'm finding I don't need them quite so much.
In many ways I'm looking forward to the arrival of autumn, cooler weather and a re-installment of my old routines, but in the meantime it is a case of when in Tuzla...
I have a routine that I like and enjoy which is as English as it gets which goes something like this.
12-5pm: (once I have picked them up from nursery) various activities with the boys, outside as much as possible preferably running them into the ground. Luke isn't really doing naps any more so it is 5 hours of fun fun fun.
5pm - I start thinking about dinner. The TV can go on from this point, but in reality comes on when I have had enough and everyone is starting to kill each other. This can be as late as 6.30 but usually is around 5.30pm. I use the respite to cook dinner when I can concentrate on what I'm doing and not having to worry about stirring a cheese sauce whilst simultaneously refereeing the latest fight and acting as activity coordinator and retrieving toys thrown too high for them to reach.
6pm - dinner during which at some point Daddy normally reappears leading to much excitement and then more rampaging around the house.
6.30pm - bath, pyjamas, teeth, one last (calming) DVD, stories and bed. If I'm on my game it'll all be over by 7.30, sometimes stretching out as far as 8pm.
8pm - And relax: a glass of wine, The Archers (we are one hour ahead of UK time) and time to sit on the porch watching the rest of Bosnian society heading into town.
The Bosnians are true Europeans though. Their children nap in the afternoon up until the age of about 6 but don't go to bed until 10pm or later. For a long time I haven't able to understand this. But the latest bout of hot weather (it's been up to 40C here again) has shown me why this attitude makes a LOT of sense.
No one is outside between 12 and 4. No one. Absolutely not a soul. Sometimes it is just me, the boys and the dog. Wilting. So hot and sweaty and miserable. Even with SPF 50, sun suits, hats and the full British hot weather look, it is miserable. I have come to understand that just because there is blue sky outside doesn't mean that outside is the place to be. Obviously this goes against every English bone in my body. It still feels wrong to be inside when the weather outside looks so enticing.
But I have come to understand that it is best that the kids get their outdoors fix after 5pm. The temperature is so much more pleasant. Everyone else is out there too, so there are others to play with.
With this understanding has come a realisation that we will have to change our routine, for the summertime at least. Now, I'm pushing them to have a nap during the afternoon. Sit quietly. Maybe even put the DVD on (arrghgh, this seems so wrong, against my not before 5pm rule). Then, when the heat of the day has subsided we head on out for the outdoors fun at what should really be outdoors time.
This means bedtime has gone totally to pot. The other night they were still rocking at 10pm, and even being pretty good with it. I've had my moments of stressing about it. I certainly miss my evenings. But the whole of the rest of the day is so much less stressful and so much more fun that I'm finding I don't need them quite so much.
In many ways I'm looking forward to the arrival of autumn, cooler weather and a re-installment of my old routines, but in the meantime it is a case of when in Tuzla...
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Laundry Life
At last, summer has really begun. Having had weeks of unseasonal rain (the endurance of which is made worse by constantly hearing about the unseasonal heatwave back in the UK), we are now on full scale sunshine, temperatures in the mid 30s and a confidence that tomorrow will be the same.
In this household the arrival of serious sunshine also marks the arrival of serious washing. We don't have a dryer (never have actually, even in England) so I need to make the most of the ability to get stuff dry fast. The past few days the washing machine has been humming. Quite often it has been humming with nothing in it, as Luke has discovered how to turn it on. This is not a good thing; although I'm obviously encouraging his ability to separate whites from delicates and load them up, I am now living in fear of the unexpected boil wash.
Anyway, I digress. The washing. Or, more accurately, the washing basket. Readers, let it be known, I've seen the bottom of the washing basket! For quite a long time I thought there was no such thing. I mean, I haven't seen it for years. I had started to believe that the laundry basket is a bottomless pit. Worse, it is some weird Dungeons and Dragons portal thing, where new bits of material are constantly being fed in the basket to ensure its mysterious depths lie untouched. But today, as I type, it is bare and incidentally, a rather grubby white. Can I just mention here in a rare moment of housewifely proudness (I don't have much to proud of on this front so allow me just a touch of self congratulation) not only have I washed all the bedding and sofa covers, I've even washed the curtains. And that weird thing that no one knows what it is that has lived in the washing basket for years. I've washed the lot.
The only problem? If I believed in ironing, the ironing pile would be it. Fortunately I don't so I'm just trying to put all the clothes away. Turns out that we don't have enough cupboard space. Seems we need the laundry basket to maintain the household equilibrium. Better get back to my more usual slovenly ways quick sharp. Clearly I need to read more of There's More to Life than Laundry, who has decided to forsake the bottom of the laundry basket to sail from the UK to Brazil in the Round the World Clipper Race. She has young kids too. I have no excuse!
On a different note, I have to give a talk to the best and brightest of Tuzla's university and final year high school students. I can talk about anything I want. Any ideas? What would you talk to seriously bright young people, who will help shape Bosnia's future about? A big part of me wants to stand on desks and shout carpe diem! but I don't think my oratory talents can match Robin Williams, and the talk is in the Medresa school so requires a modicum of decorum. Suggestions gratefully received in the comment box.
In this household the arrival of serious sunshine also marks the arrival of serious washing. We don't have a dryer (never have actually, even in England) so I need to make the most of the ability to get stuff dry fast. The past few days the washing machine has been humming. Quite often it has been humming with nothing in it, as Luke has discovered how to turn it on. This is not a good thing; although I'm obviously encouraging his ability to separate whites from delicates and load them up, I am now living in fear of the unexpected boil wash.
Anyway, I digress. The washing. Or, more accurately, the washing basket. Readers, let it be known, I've seen the bottom of the washing basket! For quite a long time I thought there was no such thing. I mean, I haven't seen it for years. I had started to believe that the laundry basket is a bottomless pit. Worse, it is some weird Dungeons and Dragons portal thing, where new bits of material are constantly being fed in the basket to ensure its mysterious depths lie untouched. But today, as I type, it is bare and incidentally, a rather grubby white. Can I just mention here in a rare moment of housewifely proudness (I don't have much to proud of on this front so allow me just a touch of self congratulation) not only have I washed all the bedding and sofa covers, I've even washed the curtains. And that weird thing that no one knows what it is that has lived in the washing basket for years. I've washed the lot.
The only problem? If I believed in ironing, the ironing pile would be it. Fortunately I don't so I'm just trying to put all the clothes away. Turns out that we don't have enough cupboard space. Seems we need the laundry basket to maintain the household equilibrium. Better get back to my more usual slovenly ways quick sharp. Clearly I need to read more of There's More to Life than Laundry, who has decided to forsake the bottom of the laundry basket to sail from the UK to Brazil in the Round the World Clipper Race. She has young kids too. I have no excuse!
On a different note, I have to give a talk to the best and brightest of Tuzla's university and final year high school students. I can talk about anything I want. Any ideas? What would you talk to seriously bright young people, who will help shape Bosnia's future about? A big part of me wants to stand on desks and shout carpe diem! but I don't think my oratory talents can match Robin Williams, and the talk is in the Medresa school so requires a modicum of decorum. Suggestions gratefully received in the comment box.
Monday, 15 June 2009
sometimes it is not the kids who cause the most trouble...
One of the key aspects of parenting, they say, is to learn from your mistakes. So given an episode from last year, which I even wrote a post about called making your life easier, you would have thought that I would not be making the same mistake again. Dear reader, you would be mistaken.
The story then. It has been hot here. Really pretty hot especially for us Brits who are used to one day of sunshine per year when it might possibly, just maybe, get over 80F / 27C and then we all complain about it for the rest of the year. It has been approaching 100F (that is 38C for the more metric minded amongst you) every day for the past week. The hose has been out in the garden, we have been swimming in the lakes and we are doing everything possible to cool down. Which is why, when Dave suggested that we go get some water pistols I foolishly forgot last years experience and acquiesced.
Adam and I ventured forth, avoided the strikes that are currently gridlocking the traffic in Tuzla, and found 4 water pistols that look like sharks and shoot water miles. We rushed home and I left them to it. For a happy half an hour I could hear shrieks of laughter, the occasional squawk as someone had obviously been hit, and the sounds of taps running. Dave, out there and orchestrating the fun and games, was organising the filling up of buckets of water and helping them re-fill their guns. I embarked on a momentary and unusual domestic goddess moment and got on with such things as marinading chicken, making banana pud for dinner and even cleaning the bathroom.
Eventually I couldn't resist it and popped out to join them. They were wet, but not excessively so. I got blasted pretty quickly, but found a gun and hid behind the car. Years of experience has taught me that my husband is the one to watch in these situations, so I crept towards him planning an ambush. Luke, spotting my ploy, alerted his father (oh traitorous child). I was distracted for one moment. One precious moment. And found myself underneath a bucket of water.
Dave claims he thought I knew he had the bucket and would be watching for him to do it. He also says it was self defence as I was about to attack (with the smallest water pistol of all). He also laughed a lot. Dripping wet, I did the only thing I could. Got hold of the nearest bucket and let loose.
The boys watched eyes as wide as saucers. This, they thought, is a good game. This is how to do it. Look at Mummy go. She can really throw water a long way when she wants to.
And so the fun continued. Obviously there were the occcasional wail as someone got a little too wet, but we did have a lovely time.
As I dropped them off in nursery this morning Adam asked if we could play the water game again this afternoon. I think the key for me now is going to be limiting the throwing around of water to that which comes out of waterpistols, and to reinforce the golden rule of 'not inside the house!'
**************************************************
On a different note - June 15 - 21st is refugee week in the UK and the Red Cross has launched a campaign to encourage people to look beyond the label of 'refugee'. The blog Amila Bosnae has a really nice post on this which includes a video from a woman who had to flee Bosnia as a child in 1995. I really recommend that you read both the post and watch the video and help support the campaign.
The story then. It has been hot here. Really pretty hot especially for us Brits who are used to one day of sunshine per year when it might possibly, just maybe, get over 80F / 27C and then we all complain about it for the rest of the year. It has been approaching 100F (that is 38C for the more metric minded amongst you) every day for the past week. The hose has been out in the garden, we have been swimming in the lakes and we are doing everything possible to cool down. Which is why, when Dave suggested that we go get some water pistols I foolishly forgot last years experience and acquiesced.
Adam and I ventured forth, avoided the strikes that are currently gridlocking the traffic in Tuzla, and found 4 water pistols that look like sharks and shoot water miles. We rushed home and I left them to it. For a happy half an hour I could hear shrieks of laughter, the occasional squawk as someone had obviously been hit, and the sounds of taps running. Dave, out there and orchestrating the fun and games, was organising the filling up of buckets of water and helping them re-fill their guns. I embarked on a momentary and unusual domestic goddess moment and got on with such things as marinading chicken, making banana pud for dinner and even cleaning the bathroom.
Eventually I couldn't resist it and popped out to join them. They were wet, but not excessively so. I got blasted pretty quickly, but found a gun and hid behind the car. Years of experience has taught me that my husband is the one to watch in these situations, so I crept towards him planning an ambush. Luke, spotting my ploy, alerted his father (oh traitorous child). I was distracted for one moment. One precious moment. And found myself underneath a bucket of water.
Dave claims he thought I knew he had the bucket and would be watching for him to do it. He also says it was self defence as I was about to attack (with the smallest water pistol of all). He also laughed a lot. Dripping wet, I did the only thing I could. Got hold of the nearest bucket and let loose.
The boys watched eyes as wide as saucers. This, they thought, is a good game. This is how to do it. Look at Mummy go. She can really throw water a long way when she wants to.
And so the fun continued. Obviously there were the occcasional wail as someone got a little too wet, but we did have a lovely time.
As I dropped them off in nursery this morning Adam asked if we could play the water game again this afternoon. I think the key for me now is going to be limiting the throwing around of water to that which comes out of waterpistols, and to reinforce the golden rule of 'not inside the house!'
**************************************************
On a different note - June 15 - 21st is refugee week in the UK and the Red Cross has launched a campaign to encourage people to look beyond the label of 'refugee'. The blog Amila Bosnae has a really nice post on this which includes a video from a woman who had to flee Bosnia as a child in 1995. I really recommend that you read both the post and watch the video and help support the campaign.
Thursday, 4 September 2008
more lake success
As we bask in 35C of pretty continuous sunshine, it is difficult to believe that there will ever come a time when we need to put on a jumper. But last time we were here it snowed on the 2nd October so we know it can happen. Always with this in the back of our mind we are trying to make the most of the last of the summer sun - eating ice creams, swimming in more lakes, al fresco dining in the centre of town - generally feeling as if we are still on holiday.
Tuzla, without a proper river of its own, has created 2 man-made salt water lakes (apparently the only in Europe, whether that is true or not I have no idea). And they have really done a good job. It feels as if you are on a (admittedly pebbly) holiday beach. The water is clear and is self cleaning, there is a beach volley ball pitch, ice cream sellers and lots of places to get changed and shower.
The boys can't get enough of it. Adam wades in with his arm bands and won't get out; D gets to go in with him - they usually take a water pistol so it is not totally painless for me. Luke potters in and out and then spends a very happy 40 minutes or so moving pebbles from one pot to another. It's a brilliant game and I wildly encourage it. Requiring no adult input, I could almost bring a book. That would really make it a holiday.
Tuzla, without a proper river of its own, has created 2 man-made salt water lakes (apparently the only in Europe, whether that is true or not I have no idea). And they have really done a good job. It feels as if you are on a (admittedly pebbly) holiday beach. The water is clear and is self cleaning, there is a beach volley ball pitch, ice cream sellers and lots of places to get changed and shower.
The boys can't get enough of it. Adam wades in with his arm bands and won't get out; D gets to go in with him - they usually take a water pistol so it is not totally painless for me. Luke potters in and out and then spends a very happy 40 minutes or so moving pebbles from one pot to another. It's a brilliant game and I wildly encourage it. Requiring no adult input, I could almost bring a book. That would really make it a holiday.
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