Unreality TV

Most American TV is not an accurate portrayal of US society. I know, I know… sorry to ruin your day. The violence, the crime scene investigators, the people preparing for the end of the world, all that might be closer to the truth. Where American TV goes wrong is in its depictions of life in sitcoms. In my experience there are few, if any, places where everyone knows your name. 

It was only after I moved to Croatia in 2011, that I started to see the unreality of American sitcoms. While these shows are far from reality in the US, the way of life on all of these shows began to look suspiciously familiar. I realized US sitcoms are actually about life in Croatia! Don’t believe it?  Here is some evidence. 

Another reality TV

On Sex and the City, Carrie and her gal friends sit in restaurants, cafes, or bars,  sharing heartfelt tales of heartbreak sprinkled with sexual innuendo. Sitcoms also involve going to the same cafe/bar over and over again. On How I Met Your Mother the gang spends most of their time drinking with each other in the neighborhood bar. On Seinfeld Jerry and friends are always at a place that’s simply called “Restaurant.” Look familiar? Yes, this is just like having coffee in Croatia. When is the last time you went some place new?

Then there is the very “involved” neighbor, like Urkel, Gibbler, or Kramer, who comes over all the time, often unannounced. And perhaps most notably on many shows like Everybody Loves Raymond, Fraser, and The King of Queens there is an older, aging, dominating, family member that constantly “complicates” things, especially for the male protagonist.  

We don’t really do that.

From the vantage point of a sitcom it looks like Americans spend all their free time socializing over one kind of drink or another, live with their relatives, and go to the same place again and again. If you replace socialize with watch TV, place with living room, and drink with pizza, then sure, we do that. Having coffee is rarely like it is imagined on Friends, sitting around, and you know, drinking coffee. Life in the US is hectic, often rushed and very rarely does anyone seem to have time for sitting around drinking coffee. If anything, you get it “to go” and talk to your friends on your mobile, while driving to your next appointment. Neighbors? I hardly even knew their names. Living with family members? No. Out of three siblings only one of us lives in the same state as my parents.

We Aspire to be Croatians?

Think about what is says when the ideas of levity, humor, laughter and comedy on American TV really resemble life in Croatia. Maybe this explains why I love living in Croatia so much. Countless hours of American TV have taught me that this is actually what life should be like. Based on our sitcoms you could argue that in the US we want to have a life like life in Croatia. Frustrating? At times. Complicated? A little. But ultimately, it’s a good time. In middle English, the word comedy was used less to depict a humorous event, but instead referred to a play or poem that had a happy ending. In that sense, I believe life in Croatia, a life with friends, having coffee, friendly neighbors, and even punica, can be truly comedic.   

(This piece was originally published on my blog for the Voice of Croatia)


Freebies?

Croatians are some of the most hospitable people that I’ve ever met. Being a guest is like being a prince, albeit a force fed prince, but a prince no less. And then there is of course the gift giving, the birthday treating, the coffee buying, the lunch, the hosting and being hosted, and usually some more gift giving for no real reason. Now, all of this is in stark contrast to the miserliness of Croatian public life. Yes, outside of the personal, private experience between friends and family, Croatian society seems incredibly cheap. Where’s the schwag? The freebies? The pro bono goods? The free stuff? 

In America you can find free stuff everywhere. Usually it’s little things, but it’s often the little things that count. Ketchup. Ketchup is free and plentiful. There are piles of it on the condiment bar. And you’re like condiment what? Yep. See, in the US we have so many free condiments that fast-food restaurants actually have a special place in the restaurant for said condiments. You can find free packets of ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, hot sauce, hot mustard, relish, duck sauce, soy sauce, and barbecue sauce (not to mention salt, pepper, and sugar) on the condiment bar. And, if they don’t have free packets then there is usually a whole jug or tub or something with a pump stuck in it, so you can douse your food with duck sauce until your heart’s content. 

Meanwhile in “Croatia” (those are sarcastic quotes by the way) the ketchup is kept behind the counter like it’s some kind of tomato-based methadone, and you have to not only ask for it, but pay for it too!    

Then there is the scarcity of paper products. Again in the US, walk into a public restroom and there is a strong certainty that it will have a) paper towels in the towel dispenser; b) toilet paper. In Croatia, this certainty is greatly diminished, especially if you are in a public facility. At the University of Zagreb paper towels are about as rare as Bigfoot. There have been sightings, but I have yet to confirm their existence. Toilet paper too. 

In the US you can always find an ample supply of napkins and tissues for free and open for the taking almost anywhere. Secretary’s desk at some firm: box of tissues. Classroom at school: box of tissues. Cafe: stack of napkins. Grocery store: stack of napkins. Fast-food place: napkins. In Croatia the napkins are delivered only on request and tissues only come in little handheld packets.

How many times have I had a sneeze attack on a sunny, spring day in Zagreb and not had a tissue? Well, three. With my hand over my face I walk into the nearest cafe or bakery, mumbling in Croatian for a napkin or something to wipe my nose. Sometimes I succeed. Other times, well you don’t really want to know. But each time I think: I miss America.

You might think people here would take advantage of it. Don’t worry, in the US we do. When I was a kid I used to go into Long John Silver’s (it's a fast-food seafood restaurant, mmm landlocked fast-food fish.) and ask for a water, which came with lemon, then I’d go to the condiment bar and poor enough sugar in to make my own free lemonade!


Maybe it has to do with how skeptical Croatians can be compared to Americans. Or perhaps it’s is just one of those inexplicable differences. It’s funny because it really is in such contrast to the generosity of personal and private life here. And it’s also one of the few things I miss from home. Then again, the sea is free (for now). 



Middle School.

For a long time I've tried to understand how I can feel less alienated and detached from the world in a country where I am a foreigner. A common thing on Zablogreb is how much more social Croatian society is than the US. Here the relations are THICK, and I think I've found an answer. School. But, not in a way that has anything to do with curriculum or the quality of teachers. Nope. The biggest difference between Croatian schools and American schools is that in the US we have a special hell called middle school.

Right, so Croatia has middle school (srednja škola) but this middle school is actually high school (again with the names Croatia— it’s confusing). Before Croatian “middle” school there is just elementary school (osovna škola,). Middle school in the US is completely different. Not only is it the worse time in any American's life, it occurs in the actual middle of your schooling. Middle school is the inky-black abyss that swallows grades 6-8.

See, in the US we begin school with kindergarten, then it's on to the 1st grade. Grades K-5 are known as elementary school. Then comes middle school. That's right, everything you've known and loved, the adoring teachers that have seen you grow from a 5 year-old to an 11 or 12 year-old, the friends you've had for the last 6 years, well, all of that is suddenly stripped away from you. The feeling of home, comfort, familiarity, continuity, all gone. You are left naked. In the wild. with wolves. 

At the same time, this is when kids start to change into adolescents. And since the school is much bigger than its elementary counterpart, there is more "diversity." What that means is that I entered middle school looking like a 9 year-old and found myself walking the halls with guys that shaved. The variety of biological and hormonal differences, coupled with newness of everything, adds to the already unpleasant experience of transition from kid to teen. 

Middle school has a steep learning curve, what the launches you into the realities of American life, realities that you may or may not be prepared for. In my middle school we had real gangs, in 8th grade there were 11 guns found in the school and a friend was beaten into a coma. It's where I first learned what pot smelled like, because a fellow student came to school smelling like pot. 

Each year in middle school is filled with new strangers, and you grope for friends like a drowning rat. It's easy to befriend someone without really knowing them. Middle school was the first time I had friends that would brazenly steal from stores. It was also where everyone suddenly became programmed into trends, switching and backstabbing friends with rapid frequency. Middle school is where social pressure became palpable.  

And the teachers. It must be hard for a teacher to invest herself into a student she may only have once. Not because that teacher is bad or lazy, but teaching is emotionally exhausting. I can only imagine teaching a new batch of kids in the full flux of adolescence is, well, just awful. Especially when you are unable to have a longer, more durable relationship with them. Middle school, like so much in the US is transitory. In such a world of turmoil, the students, friends, and teachers are interchangeable, and expendable. 

Croatia, on the hand, doesn't have this system. HOORAY!! Why? Because you guys are nice. This makes all the difference. Kids here get to enjoy the familiar up until high school. And by the time you're 14, you're ready for something different. To maintain some sense of continuity at a time when you and everyone around you is changing just makes sense. What better way to raise a kid, than by giving her steady and constant friends, classmates, and teachers during the most awkward stage in anyone's life. 

I've noticed that there is bond that exists between students here in Croatia that doesn't exist in the US. The students in a classroom have solidarity with each other. While this may help them cheat, it also serves as the beginning foundation for the relationships, connections, and networks that make Croatian society stable. I'd guess that a large part of this behavior begins and evolves in primary school. It is then perfected in high school, rather than destroyed in middle school.

______________________________________________________________

Shout outs to Marko and Jelena, whose conversation got me thinking about this post. 


The "Magic" of Croatian Intuition

It seems to me that Croatians are not really concerned about being precise. Croatia is a world of horseshoes and hand grenades, where close enough is… well… enough. Or  it may be that I don’t have the cultural acumen needed to accurately decode these ambiguous expressions into the bursts of clarity they really are. I lack what I like to call Croatian Intuition.

It’s that point during a meal when someone says “no” to more, and I’m left there holding the cheese and pršut plate, trying to discern whether or not they mean no, no, or yes, but are just saying no. Or, at the end of a coffee when a friend insists on paying, and I’m not sure if she really means that or if she’s just saying it. The list goes on. When the hosts says stay, do we go? In these situations I feel so disoriented that I’m like an insect with his antennae snapped off. 

It gets worse. One time I was getting an x-ray and the nurse said: “Take everything off” (Skinite sve or se). So, I. took. everything. off. Well, one awkward scene and one startled nurse later, I learned that what she actually meant was “take your shirt off.” Great. 

Here in Croatia even the things that should be precise aren’t, like numbers. Distance, temperature and TIME! All are open to interpretation. Look at the weather forecast. The hundreds of kilometer stretch of sea is given one temperature and the rest of in-land Croatian is given another. What? How can that make any sense? Do we live on a small island? No. We don’t. There is even a 20 kilometer discrepancy on the signs telling you the distance from Split to Zagreb, or Zagreb to Split. Or the television schedule, sometimes it says 20:05, but that actually could mean 20:00 or 20:10, maybe even 20:07. 

The uncertainty culminates in trying to interpret any set of institutional or bureaucratic rules. In the US we say rules are rules. In Croatia it’s more like rules are rules when someone wants them to be, otherwise they're just rules. Which ones matter is often shrouded in ambiguity. At one job, the accounting office insisted that I had to have a different kind of account number, and then after someone from another office argued with them, they changed their minds. What? There are of course other instances with some regulator or bureaucrat insisting on some rule, only to have his insistence suddenly wither away on a whim like a dried leaf  in the wind. 

I’ll admit that Americans are not the most intuitive people on the planet. In fact we loathe ambiguity and nuance. It’s why we split the bill. Forget fairness. To me, paying for my own coffee is worth not having to do the awkward little shuffle-fight for the bill. Or spend energy interpreting what someone says. Just. tell. me. what. you. want. puhleaze. When someone says “no” for seconds we say…um… O.K. And that’s that.  


What’s most amazing to me is how the discrepancies, nuances and uncertainties don’t seem to really bother anybody.  This could be a result of passive resignation to one’s uncertain fate, but I think it’s more likely that everyone here can understand each other, regardless of what is or isn’t said. Or, maybe it’s just more fun getting naked when you aren’t supposed to and surprising your friend with a coffee. Not necessarily at the same time, of course. 


99 Problems (but a Cafe ain’t one of Them)

 Zagreb has 1,901 cafes. Yes, that’s right. Zagreb. has. one-thousand. nine hundred. and one cafes! (Just let that sink in... ... ... ... OK, ready?) 

Things get odd when you try to understand why people go to which cafes. Typically we are taught that what matters most to customers is selection, customer service, and atmosphere. Anytime spent in the cafes of Zagreb tells you something else is at work here. For one, there are only three types of coffee served in Croatia: Franck, Lavazza, and the one that has a guy wearing a funny hat. Meanwhile, some of the most crowded cafes are the most bland and mundane atmospherically. We’re talking wood paneling that makes the place look like it’s a living room or what my grandpa used to call a “rumpus room”  straight out of 1970s suburban America. And yet, the music is current. Absent in this choice of decor is any kind of “retro” irony that’s so popular with the kids nowadays. But, lots of people are to be found in this kind of cafe. You could even call it crowded. And finally, “customer service” as a phrase doesn’t even exist in most cafes (there are exceptions). In fact some of the most frequented and popular cafes have some of the worst service. 

OK, so why do some people go to some cafes and not to others? What gives a cafe its competitive edge. For the 1k cafes, there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of competition. Since my first time in Croatia I was and still am very confused about the criteria people use to select their cafe. We (meaning the people I generally have coffee with) go to certain spots for no obvious reason (like those given above). This behavior truly borders on the absurd in the warmer months when everyone is sitting outside and the cafes are basically identical. What? We can’t sit at THESE table and chairs, we have to sit at THOSE table and chairs, right next to the ones we won’t sit at! Huh? And yes, that happens. 

Each cafe does seem to have it’s own specific category of clientele. Walking around any neighborhood and you see cafes that look like they are just for old men. You see cafes that look like they are just for young dudes. Then you wonder, Hmm. Was the old man cafe once a young dude’s cafe? Then there are cafes with mostly women, couples, and ... how to put this delicately... sponzoruša. There are the rockers, old hippies, hipsters, bohemian types, metal (and I’m sure a varied subspecies of “metal” cafes).  I am amazed at the variety and diversity of cafe patrons in what is otherwise a pretty homogenous town. 

And while the types of people that go to certain cafes are apparent, what is still unclear is how this happens? Because it’s not like the metal cafe is painted black with skulls on the walls (although that would be cool). The old man cafe doesn’t have shuffle board. Often there is no indication aside from the customers as to what differentiates one cafe from another. Do the owners of these places know ahead of time what kind of cafe they are opening? Is it strategic, part of their business plan? Proposed type of customers: Old guys. Or is it like so much else in Croatia, a happy accident? And if you think the names of places will shed some light in this inscrutable darkness, you are so utterly mistaken. The names of cafes are just another layer of mystery. Trust me, names likes Titanic, Sorry, Golf, Teacher’s Pub, Godot, Pif, Alcatraz, Kafka, Bogdan, K&K, Bacchus, Tituš, Romero, College, Limb, GP, Route 66 give you no indication of what kind of people you’ll find inside. Take Golf for example. Golf. Nothing could sound more like a cafe for old men. No. It’s not. It’s actually where the young folks like to frequent. 

To locals the question of who goes where and why is intuitive. They just feel it. It’s part of being part of a place. Once you get a city’s unsaid rhythms and unspoken rules, then you get in the flow and just know where to go.

 I, on the other hand, keep stumbling, bumbling into all kinds of places. Learning, I guess.  



Where the Streets Have No Names

Croatia can be a confusing place. Especially, when you are driving in a car with your mother-in-law looking for something on a street that may or may not exist anymore. She’s telling me what the street used to be called. And I’m asking her what the street is now called. And she doesn’t know, she just knows what it used to be called. Of course, because in reality that’s actually what everyone still calls it. Not that it matters much, because the street may or may not have a sign on it, and even if does have a sign it’s going to be a small little postage stamp of a sign on the corner of a building that you drive pass quickly. Try reading the name Smičiklasova through the glare of the windshield, beneath the glow of the street lamps, among all the city’s busy shadows. Welcome to Croatia: where the streets have no goddamn names.

This is just one emblematic example of life in Croatia. To survive living here you need to possess local knowledge. This is what anthropologists refer to as knowledge based on experience and embedded in a community’s practices, institutions, rituals and relationships. Local knowledge is something that to the inhabitants of a given area or community seems intrinsic and intuitive. It is something everyone just knows. Everyone, except for the outsider.

Now this is very different (at least I think it is) from life in the US. Sure, hipsters and the other cool kids pride themselves on possessing “local knowledge,” but this is trendy information about which bar is the most retro or where you can get the best falafel on a Friday night in Brooklyn. The difference is between knowing about Booksa and knowing where the hell the Zagreb municipality office is because you urgently need some vital document (PS: lady that told me, it’s not really across from Nama). In my hometown it is very easy to find your way around. For one, all of our streets have big green signs on the corner of each intersection. At major intersections the name of the intersecting street is on a sign between the two traffic lights. So, you know, you can like, read the sign while actually watching the road (genius!). The one place this occurs in Zagreb is on Zeleni Val (Green Wave) where knowing the street names doesn’t really seem to matter. Tulsa’s north-south streets are named after American cities, alphabetically. The East-West cities are numbered sequentially, starting with #1. You know what never happens in Tulsa? You never drive on the same street and then suddenly it becomes another street! In Croatia this happens every three blocks. We also don’t have any streets named after squares.

In geometry class we learned that a line is never ending and only line segments have ends. Streets in Zagreb appear as if someone went crazy with the segments. When you drive by a square in Zagreb, that street ends, and becomes a street named after the square. Then when you are through the square, the original street you were on may or may not return. You might find yourself on a completely different street. Sort of. Same street, Different name. Same line. Different segment. But of course none of that actually matters because most of the streets were named something else 20 years ago and half the population still refers to them by those old names. This is the chocolate conundrum icing on our chaos cake. Sweet.

The local knowledge refers to some streets via their old name. If you look at a map, then it’s something totally different (same goes with words like airport. No one calls it Zračna Luka, I mean the signs do, but everyone else calls it the Aerodrom). Then again there is a deficit of signage and this doesn’t really help anyone learn the knew names. I have walked one particular street in Split a billion times. I know the buildings on this street like the back of my hand. I can close my eyes and walk it in my mind, and yet I have no idea what it’s “new” name is. I’ve never seen a sign on the street announcing its name. I looked once on a map and forgot.

The good news is that people in Croatia generally use landmarks rather than street names as points of reference. Then again a lot of these things aren’t even the things people call them. Par exemple, in Zagreb someone may refer to the Rakete (rockets, that aren’t actually rockets) or the Džamija (mosque, that’s not actually a mosque), or limenke (aluminum cans that are actually buildings). Confused?

Of course part of the fun (hmm... fun? Sure, let’s go ahead and call it “fun”) about living in Croatia is learning the local knowledge. Learning to know what everyone knows is the fist step to thinking like a local and gaining acceptance from the community. The process of cracking the colloquial code has enriched my relationship with this city, country, and people. You need more than a map to love a place. And learning what the local knows also makes driving with Punica a whole lot easier.


Where the streets have no soul


It’s funny. Where I’m from it is impossible to walk anywhere. From the front and side yards separating neighbors, to the sea of suburban sprawl between shopping centers, everything in the Midwest seems spread to infinity. And you can’t walk to infinity, you have to drive (and usually in an SUV). So, I was raised in carpools of station wagons and minivans before eventually graduating to my own car. I drove half an hour to high school everyday. Our weekends were spent in cars as we drove on aimless quests hunting for fun and testing the boundaries of our bordeom. Despite being brought up on, in, and around cars, in Zagreb I prefer to walk everywhere. Now back to the funny part, my Croatian friends um... don’t. It seems that at every opportunity they will try to drive or take a tram, anything not to walk. 

When I tell people I regularly walk to the city center, almost daily, I get stares. Like blank, deer-in-head-light stares. And then a visible question mark forms somewhere on their forehead, just between their confounded eyebrows. Yes, I prefer to walk whenever I can. In one of last year’s snow storms I even walked from Savska to Heinzelova. And liked it! 

So the American likes walking more than the Croatians. Well, Here’s why I like walking: 

Recall, the geography of every midwestern American city: generic business district, houses, highways, parking lots, shopping malls, suburbs. Even if it was feasible to walk anywhere there is really nowhere to walk to. If you do walk, people stop and ask you if you need a ride or think you’re homeless (Yes this happens!). The streets are barren, save for the lives of passing cars. 

Now Zagreb: even in the grey murk of the winter months the city blooms with life. From November to April the city is at its most intriguing. Shrouded in fog the rakete and other socialist relics disappear, only to reappear through the mist like the ruins of a fallen temple from some forgotten past in some a hidden land. The cafe lights are brighter amid the gloom, like beacons to the grey ghosts that live in each of us. At night there lurk an endless amount of questions in each covered walk and behind each crumbling facade.The backdrops of rust and ruination invite an untold number of stories that the shiny and new can never tell. What’s more, is the way these are, but the background for the life that pulses through these city streets. The clatter of trams, phosphorescent pops on their lines, pedestrians (yes, pedestrians!) foot traffic, people, faces passing by, all of this tells you that you are somewhere even when you are headed to nowhere in particular. 

Walking makes feel like I am a part of the city, like I am a piece of something much bigger than myself. In our cars we are just lonely atoms. On foot, we are the subatomic particles in a more complicated molecule. And being a pedestrian lets you set the pace to feel and observe the dynamics of life occurring all around you. Beautiful women, rowdy boys, businessmen, school kids, bakers on break, older women burdened with bags from the pazar, teenagers aspiring to look indifferent: all of these are features that are hard to find in my hometown’s featureless streets. Why ride, drive or run, when you can walk?  

                                         Behold!  The Rakete

Why Try America?

Even though I’ve expatriated myself to Croatia, I am still an American. And despite my frequent negativity about the US, there are a lot things I love and miss about my native land. Much of this is tainted by Diasporic nostalgia and aging. The America I miss is probably more akin to a John Hughe’s film (

Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles

) with a soundtrack that plays the best mix of the 80s and 90s, than it is to reality. Each time I go back, the fact that the US doesn’t quite match my retro Utopia may cause me to mentally exaggerate the country’s decline. America is a complicated, confusing, really big place and part of me still loves her. Here are some reasons why you might too.  

For starters it’s hella convenient. Americans have perfected convenience by inventing Wal-Mart (and her posher sister, Target). Need to fill a prescription, buy a DVD, some toothpaste, religious based fiction, an apple pie, a gun and maybe a writing desk at 3:30 a.m. on a Sunday? Well, in America you can! (And people do.) Yes, nothing is more convenient (and interesting) than 24/7 shopping. 

 I

n the US,

 it’s basically possible to get anything you want anytime you want. This is not only convenient, it’s empowering! We are all masters of our needs because we no longer have to depend on silly things like "store hours" or "daylight" to facilitate our pre-dawn desires. It might also explain why people wear their pajamas to Wal-Mart. It could also make us a little less patient than our European brethren, but whatevs. Here’s to the one stop shop!

Abundance! There is so much stuff and all of it is cheap, which is also convenient. Free-refills people! Go to a restaurant and order a coke and you get an endless supply of coke (

um... the soda? What did you think I was talking about? That stuffs only free until they get you hooked! Actually come to think of it, it’s basically the same: America: Free addictive COKE

!) Coffee in a diner: free refill. Sure it might be watered down, and the soda might be crammed with high fructose corn syrup, but free is free! We also have free tiny packets of ketchup, and 99% of public restrooms have ample amounts of toilet paper. Aside from refills, the land is pretty cheap, so you’ll probably get to live in a house. Stuff is cheap, you’ll probably get to have lots of stuff. There is no federal sales tax, unlike the 25% PDV here, and most local sales taxes are rarely over 10%. And since there is so much stuff, there are always sales making that stuff even cheaper.   

I miss customer service. In America we have an expression:

the customer is always right!

The translation of this expression into Croatian is a little lost. It comes out to something like:

The customer is always annoying, and will be served eventually, with great disdain, when I finish this cigarette or magazine.

Sure the politeness and friendliness of salespeople and waitstaff is often shallow and false, but you know what: It’s still nice to have someone smile at you and not act like you have ruined their day by giving them your business. Also, if you have a problem with something you’ve ordered, bought, or worn, chances are the store or restaurant will take care of it,

no questions asked

. In the US, most places have a 30 day return policy,

no questions asked

, cash back (with a receipt, store credit without). In Croatia if you return something the day after you bought it, regardless of the validity of your reason, the salesperson looks at you with scorn, mentally saying:

Bah!

You should be more discriminating with your purchases in the future.

Or at least that’s what I think that frown means. The culture of customer satisfaction is one of the things I long for from America. And I’ve been on both ends. When I was selling things, I actually liked fixing people’s problems and handling their complaints. I felt like a ray of helpful sunshine on their cloudy day.  

The ability to buy cheap things at any time of day or night, eat or drink until we are near comatose, and get results for any kind of service complaint, helps us maintain our healthy optimism. Yes, compared to Croatians, Americans are very optimistic. It doesn’t matter how many things I believe I have going for me here, when I talk about them with a certain older, matriarchal, female member of the family, she is never hopeful that things will work out. I’m all like things will get better:

Look I’ve got a job and this blog, I was in the newspaper, and I’m writing a book

and she’s all

“But what about now?”

It’s as if banking on the future is considered a fools errand. Better not to look to the horizon because you’ll just hurt your eyes. Sure, it’s probably useful to have a healthy dose of skepticism dumped on your dreams, but its also a bit exhausting. What’s the harm in working towards a better tomorrow? At the same time, in the States we might be too optimistic. We are told from the earliest age that anyone, even YOU, can be President! (No, not YOU. You’re a foreigner). In the US, it’s all horizon all of the time, sometimes to a fault. We believe in the greatness of the future NO MATTER what is happening in the present!

I once had a Professor say that “Americans are the fairest people on the planet.” Granted he was from China and had survived Mao’s Cultural Revolution, so in that context his perspective might have been a little skewed. But, after living here and in a few other countries, I think he was on to something. The convenience of things, the ability to have your complaints considered and usually rectified without a recourse to reciprocity, are the hallmarks of a people striving for fairness.* The fundamental problem in the US, as I see it, is how we as a society agree or disagree on what “fair” means.

 If you’re skeptical about these sentiments, and you probably are, then all I can say is:

Try America. You might like it.   

Now here's a song about America sung by Willie Nelson:

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*And I’m not talking about US foreign policy. Who could ever call Kissinger fair?

Why Croatia


I know Croatia has a LOT of problems. People commonly talk about corruption, inept political institutions, entrenched bureaucracy, and all in all, a very limited amount of individual opportunity (see here: http://tacklingmommyhood.com/2013/10/choose-life-america/?fb_source=pubv1). Here the question of success is usually not about what you know, but who you know. When it comes to America vs. Croatia, Croatia sounds like the antithesis to the American Dream. In the US, we are raised on the idea that there exists enough opportunity in the US for anyone to succeed based solely on her efforts alone (the machinery of America is thought to be powered by sweat and greased with gumption). So why would I consciously chose to live in Croatia over the US? 

Short answer: the sea, coffee and Punica!!! 

In all seriousness, to me the US pretends to be brimming with opportunity, making it a challenge to deal with the stark reality that the American Dream is dying. What amazes me about Croatia is how the society and people are able to eek out a more satisfying and harmonious life, despite the apparent lack of opportunities. 

Statistically speaking Croatia is poor. GDP is a paltry 56 billion dollars, unemployment sits around 17%, and per capita income is a stagnant $1,000 dollars a month. Yet, poverty in Croatia does not seem to be as much a curse for individuals and for the society as a whole as it is in the US (I should note that by any income measure I am not poor, on the border, but not there). So, sure, Croatia may not have the career and entrepreneurial opportunities the US has, but its society and way of life are, in my opinion, a better way to live than the current trends of life in the US.  

For example, healthcare: Having healthcare, especially for my daughter has enabled me to lead my life as an aspiring Academic and... Blogger? Is that really what I’m trying to do here? Um? Yes? If I moved to the US, the first thing I would look for was ANY job that gave my family some kind of health insurance. Most of the visiting professor and adjunct positions at American Universities are low paid and provide no healthcare. If I couldn’t find a job with benefits, then I would probably have to spend $1,000 a month on healthcare. That’s money just hoping that nothing bad happens to me or my family. A couple days in the hospital without healthcare could easily eat up a year or two year’s income for those of us on the lower end of the pay scale. 

AND, it’s not all about me. I believe a society that doesn’t have to worry about going into debt just to go to the doctor or taking their kid to the doctor is a less stressed, better society. Imagine having to decide if your kid is really sick enough to warrant a trip to the doctor, talk about stressful. Access to healthcare is one very important thing not to have worry about. It’s like a great big social hug and a reassuring voice that says: Hey, we are here for you, if and when you need us. And by not having medical debt, those us living in Croatia can go into debt for all the important stuff, like BLACK BMWs and fashionable outfits for ŠPICA! 

Another great thing about Croatia is the lack of violent crime. Fifteen cities in the US reported more than 100 murders last year. Excluding the megapoli like New York (431 murders) and Chicago (500) averaged size cities no bigger than Zagreb report hundreds of murders each year: Detroit 386; Baltimore 219; New Orleans 193. As the list reveals, those cities with the highest murder rate per capita tend also be the poorest cities. Because in America, poverty and crime go hand in hand. This sad phenomenon exists at the neighborhood level as well. The worst neighborhood in my hometown, with 26 murders in the lat two years, is also one of the poorest. The neighborhood’s average income is the bottom 1% of the country’s average. This tragic story is told throughout similar neighborhood across the US. The poor not only have to suffer poverty, they also have to suffer from high violent crime. 

There are broader effects of this relationship. Namely, American society tends to associate poverty with crime, thereby making the poor potential criminals in the eyes of the public and the police. In cities like Chicago, violent street crime is itself an obstacle to opportunity. School children have to worry about being shot when just going to school. Even if they get to school, they may have trouble learning or taking advantage of the benefits an education can offer them. An Interview with one resident from a high crime neighborhood in Chicago indicated that he may suffer from the same post traumatic stress disorder as a returning war veteran from Iraq. As if poverty alone weren’t enough, the American poor have to face fear, persecution, and violence in their daily lives. If there is more opportunity in the US, the stress of poverty and crime, have isolated many from its fortunes. Yet, the American Dream tells us it can’t exist like this, so some of us judge the poor and mistrust them, denying that something is wrong, and through our own prejudice contribute to our society’s growing divisions.

Finally, what it all comes down to is community. Croatia’s greatest virtue is the strength of people’s relationships. Everyone in Croatia is connected. Forget Facebook, the original social network was created in Croatia. If you look at the most indispensable element of Croatian society, having coffee!, you see that going for coffee has nothing to do with the caffeine and more to do with maintaining old and fostering new friendships. FACT: It is impossible to consider someone a friend in Croatia, until you have had coffee with them.

While this just seems normal to Croatians, what may not be understood is how this connectedness is in fact what offsets the negative effects of poverty and limited opportunity. Societies that have a higher level of connectedness have healthier members and lower crime. Trust and relationships within a community is one of the greatest contributors to the quality of life in a given community. In California, one city uses the question of whether or not its residents have five people they can call in an emergency as  an indicator into their overall well-being.  The idea here is that individuals who are better connected have a higher level of well-being as they are part of, and exist in a network of dependable individuals. Imagine what this says about Croatia. Five? Easy. Since Croatians are incapable of saying ‘no’ to a friend, you can always ask someone you know for help in an emergency (especially if that emergency is needing a place to stay for a night or two on the coast during the summer. CRISIS!).        

Having the ability to ‘chose’ where you want to live is a privilege. While America does hold the promise of opportunity and Croatia does have problems of its own, there are aspects of life here that I would find very difficult to exchange for what might just be a dream.


What topping do you want on your ŠPICA?

The first time I heard the word špica, I thought people were saying “pizza.” Pizza on a Saturday morning? Don’t. mind. if. I do!!  Then I eventually learned that this “pizza” was actually coffee in the center of Zagreb on Saturday morning. After looking at the fashionista sets of beautiful people in my Punica’s Story and Gloria magazines, I decided that špica was probably not for me. And was maybe a little bit stupid.

After all, I was raised in a culture where Saturday mornings were strictly reserved for bowls of Cocco Puffs, episodes of Smurfs, and lounging in your PJ’s until noon, and that’s assuming you bother to change before leaving the house, which many people don’t, because donning your pajama pants to Wal-Mart or Home Depot just isn’t that big a deal. But, then I happened to find myself in Zagreb’s city center between 11 and 12, and I was of coursed charmed by the festive, and aesthetically pleasing atmosphere, buzzing around me.

While špica maybe a fashion show, its pretensions are subtle enough that you don’t really feel that awkward as an extra. Walking into the middle of špica is not like trying to sit with the cool kids in high school. I know. I tried. You can pass through, sit, and order a coffee without the conversation suddenly stopping and someone stuffing you in a locker. In fact, I imagine it’s probably too uncool to lose your cool by drawing attention to your stylish self and the nerd who just sat next to you. It could also be the fashion double standard again: the men get away with wearing t-shirts and fanny packs, while the women are required to wear furs and heels.

The real allure of špica is the fact that it happens at all. One of the virtues of Croatian society is its enduring traditions. Špica is an example of Zagreb’s collective conscience or conscientiousness, a social awareness, that though perhaps a bit superficial, binds the society together with its regularity. We lack such collective customs in the US. Individuals may have their own traditions. Maybe neighbors can plan on regularly seeing each other each Saturday while having coffee at the nearest Star Bucks or perusing pistols at the local Pawn shop (and that really does happen by the way), but it is not something that transcends individual members’ own idiosyncrasies. Where as špica is something everyone knows about and either attends or ignores. Having the choice is vital.

All of us at home in our pajamas, or having coffee in our respective quarters know that špica is happening. When I do find myself amid the coffee, crowds and the paparazzi, I feel like I am a piece of broader community. For a foreigner that’s saying something. Partaking the ritual, even from the side allows me to feel like I’m a part of it, maybe an out-of-fashion-passing-piece, but a piece of something bigger all the same.


Between Here and There

So for the past 3 weeks I’ve been hopscotching across America. From the midwest I skipped to San Francisco on the West Coast and then leapt back to the East Coast, into New York and Washington D.C. What did I learn? What grand epiphanies became vivid and apparent during my travels? Only the utter truth of what the great writer Thomas Wolfe once wrote: You can’t go home again. 

After living in Croatia for nearly 2.5 years I can never see the US in the same way I saw it before my migration. After you’ve made someplace else your new home for yourself and accepted a new place as your place, than it becomes impossible to return to your old home. It’s a bit like Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Remember? Once the cave’s captives are able to free themselves and emerge into the daylight they become aware of a greater truth. If they were to go back into the cave they would of course see the same shadows thrown on the walls by the flickering fire light. The very ones the captives once took for the whole of their world. Only now, they would know that they are, but the shadows of reality.

Living some place else and adopting its customs is a bit like leaving the cave. The biggest problem is when you try to explain this to your friends and family. Rather than coming across as enlightened, you actually sound like a pretentious dick who is “all European” with his men’s capri pants, little bag or fanny-pack, new dislike of air conditioning, limited use of ice, desire to always sit outside, hour long coffees and fancy cigarettes. Not to mention he keeps talking about shit like Plato.

I imagine it is equally challenging for our Croatian compatriots who return from living in the US. They probably talk about things like bare feet, punctuality, the benign nature of air conditioning and “customer service.”

In the US people ask me one question in two ways: What’s living in Croatia like? The first way is when they expect me to say something disparaging about life in Croatia. In those cases I say, It’s great! In the second case they have usually seen a show about the coast, or know something about Dubrovnik. And so they anticipate an answer reflecting how wonderful life in Croatia can be. In the second case I usually say, Croatia is nice, but the economy is crappy, taxes are high and you have to stand in line a lot (San Francisco also has an abundance of lines)

I don’t know why I oscillate between truths. Part of it is because I don’t want the haters to win and I don’t want the people who like Croatia to think it’s all sun and fun. The thing is, both of my chosen responses are true. The problem is trying, in the space of a short chat, to express the essence of a place. How do you cram all the colors of Croatia into the shadow of a conversation? Or the diversity of America for that matter. In the end it sounds like I only like Croatia because there is low crime and universal, affordable health care. Or I just say something like: Life is easier there. Why? How? I don’t know. I hate not having the ability to express something in a clear and concise manner, but can you really express the whole concept of home. No, you can’t. Home is a feeling and I feel like Croatia is home. Back in the US, part of me felt like a stranger at home. Coming back to Zagreb, it felt stranger to feel at home.

I’m assimilating. But I’m still not scared of propuh.


Storm and Lightning

Growing up in Oklahoma we are taught to respect the weather. We are raised scanning the heavens in fear that at any moment a tornado may just come writhing out of the sky in a grey clouded doom-spiral that’s capable of killing you and everyone you love in a matter of seconds! Sounds fun, huh?

From an early age we learn what to do when we hear tornado sirens. As early as three I knew that when the sirens began I needed to take shelter into the small closet under our stairs. The ominous drone of the tornado sirens wailed in the background of my childhood nightmares as swarms of tornadoes descended on me from above. I would wake up in a panic with my heart racing, hoping that the sirens had just been a dream. But, sometimes they weren’t. Sleepily my parents shuffled us into the closet or the basement while they turned on the TV. Out of the the flickering shadows came the calming and reassuring voice of the local weatherman, telling us when to take cover, who was in danger, and what to do.

The Oklahoma weatherman is almost like a member of the family. You trust him. You believe him. And you count on him telling you what to do when there is an F-5 tornado hurtling towards your house with the ferocity of a wolverine driven freight train. And these guys aren’t just pretty faces. They are trained meteorologists. They know science and stuff. We have radar that can show you the very street that the tornado is on. Our technology is so sophisticated that once a tornado forms, the weatherman can tell you down to the second what street the storm is passing over. In Oklahoma we take the weather very, very, very, seriously.

Then I moved to Croatia and... well... let’s just say my vigilant concern about the weather, my upbringing that demands we know where we stand between a low pressure and a high pressure system or what kind of fronts are coming is... um... unsatisfied. And even misunderstood. When a storm rolls in, out of instinct I frantically search the various channels for some information about its intensity, direction, and predicted duration. All I find are Turkish soap operas, Larin Izbor and Raymond.  Where our wether updates are filled with fancy maps of live radar, I have never seen a picture of live radar in all of Croatia. Usually there is just a map with some tranquil suns and harmless clouds dotting the landscape. Where we devote 15-20 minutes each hour to the weather report, the weather report on the morning news show in Croatia is usually just a guy standing in front of a list of temperatures in between segments of aerobics.

Near the end of the forecast comes the most puzzling thing. The TV displays one temperature for the entire seaside, and one for inland. WHAT? Given how diverse Croatia is said to be in all other aspects, local dialects, local mentality and culture, local food, it’s a ironic that the temperature of the entire coast can be reduced to one number and that the temperature for the not-coast is equally reducible to a single number. This is something that I will never, EVER understand.

Then there is the biometrik forecast. I don’t even know what to say about that.

I feel like living in Croatia, like the country’s weather, lacks the intense dynamics of life in Oklahoma. There is a storm-like fury that drives life in the US that is absent in Croatia. High street crime, fear of losing your health insurance, rushing large distances to work, not to mention the actually threat from the skies. These fears all form into a maelstrom of anxiety that I sense pulsing through American society, regardless of the weather. Though there may be a bit of political theatre and an economic malaise, the social life in Croatia is like the Adriatic: mostly calm and enjoyable. I’m not sure why this is the case, so we might as well blame it on the weather. Even when I see cloudy skies in Croatia, I’m sure we will be able to brave the storm. If I were faced with such a storm in the US, I’d want to turn to the weatherman and hide in the closet.


The Problem of Work

I keep having a routine conversation with everyone. Someone asks me if I want to stay in Croatia, usually with a little disbelief in their voice. I say, of course... If I can find enough work. Then my interlocutor sort of laughs because the difficulty in finding enough work in Croatia is no joke. So of course we have to laugh about it.

I can kind of understand why it has to be this way. It’s like a cosmic irony. If jobs were plentiful in Croatia, then Croatia would just be too good. It would be a place with a beautiful seaside, no street crime, affordable healthcare, and a charming life style, filled with leisurely coffees, beautiful women, and punicas that cooked and clean all the time for you. There would be no challenge and it would be the closest you could get to paradise. The universe cannot allow this. Just like we need Mondays because the work week has to start at some point, we can’t have any place being too perfect. Nope. Sorry.

The problem that many of us face is that fact that we actually have work. We just don’t get paid enough or have enough of it to pay us well. We are the Honorarac. Part time, underpaid, expendable employees, who are stuck in employment limbo. We make just enough to live, but not enough to give us a steady future. We can’t get bank loans. We have no pension, and even though we work full time are still officially classified as unemployed. We are the non-existent underlings who keep Croatia functioning. Unfortunately, we are the future. We are the new class, the precariate: “a social class formed by people suffering from precarity, which is a condition of existence without predictability or security.”

For those like me, who foolishly decided to do a PhD, a similar situation actually exists in the US. AND believe it or not the Croatia situation is actually better. Better because poverty in America is terrifying! If I was trying to pursue  an academic career in the US, I would be condemned to the world of adjuncts. While I am basically playing the same role here in Croatia, I and my family at least have health insurance and live in a crime free neighborhood. Living off equivalent wages with no benefits in the US, would put us in the ghetto without my daughter even having health insurance. Croatia 1: USA 0.

Croatia, really, I love you and want to live in you forever. But it’s tough. Finding a full time, permanent position in Croatia is like winning the lottery. Really. It. is. like. winning. the. lottery. I have 2 jobs and don’t make enough to pay my monthly rent. I nearly earn less than I did working at a grocery store in high school. My little brother in New York makes what I make in a month, in a day. I don’t make any money from my blog (but I am paid in Likes, comments, and a dedicated readership, which is better than money). And yet, it’s not all about money (then again, it actually is).

So why stay? I want to stay because I actually believe we have a future here. The longer I’m outside of the US, the more it terrifies me. And of course, it’s not all about money. I am a hrvatski zet. That means something. I believe that I am able to feel an affection for this land that my wife would never be able to feel for America. And that my readers, is the difference between here and there. Here things run deep, connections are thicker, time stands still and through all that, life, my life has become something different, something profound.



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The wonderful world of Zetdom

I’m a splitski zet, which in English simply means I am married to a woman from Split. But, it really doesn’t translate that easily because in English we have no other way of saying I am married to a woman from Split other than saying I am married to a woman from Split. So, there is no English equivalent to the phrase splitski zet. Back in the States, if I called my wife a daughter-in-law of Tulsa, people would have absolutely no idea what I was talking about. They would think my wife had received some honorary title, bestowed on her by the mayor and the city council at a ceremony involving flowers, a sash, and maybe even a parade. The idea that one’s attachment to their homeland is transferable to their spouse is a strange concept to Americans. In the US, you don’t have to marry in to become an American (of course you can), but most of us come from someone who, at some point, just showed up and stayed.

In a country where skepticism could be described as a national past time, being a zet helps you get your foot in the door. It’s like a vetting process. If a girl from Split (or Croatia) has already accepted me into the club, than you can rest assured I’m not all bad. It says: Hey, I’m not just some dumb foreigner just asking for something.

In my experience the world of zetdom helps with almost every kind of social transaction in Croatia. Explaining that I’m a zet breathes a bit of patience into my conversation with the doctor, waitress, or saleswoman, or bureaucrat (yes, even the bureaucrat!). My zet card has gotten me expedited customer service, endearing looks from old ladies, wherever they work, and even helped me land some interviews with former right-wing paramilitary members for a research project. Conversely, in the US, if you tried to explain to someone that they should listen to you patiently as you massacre the English language and make wild hand gestures in hopes that your moving hands will somehow help you be understood, simply because you are married to an American, Tulsan, or Oklahoman... well, that person could give a shit. Your matrimonial bond with our country or land means little, if anything.

Another facet of zet-ness is how it emphasizes the importance my spouse, family, and fellow residents place on where they are from. Again, this is less important in the US (unless you’re from Pittsburgh, people from Pittsburgh are OBSESSED with being from Pittsburgh). The love people have for the place they are from in Croatia cannot be compared to anything I have felt in the US (not even Pittsburgh). As a zet some of this affection rubs off on me. I have a more complicated relationship with Split than I do with Zadar (I’ve lived in both). Both are Dalmatian, both are old, and both are on the sea, but, Split is like family and Zadar is just an acquaintance.

By having the label of zet, a term of inclusion in what is ultimately a bounded and limited community, I am invited (maaaaaybe even expected?) to experience the love for the hometown or homeland as much as my family from there. And it works. Split is important to me because it is important to my wife. It is where I proposed to her. It is where my daughter was born. And most of all it is where I truly fell in love with her. Until I saw her in Split, amid the memories and familiarity the surround her here, I didn’t really know her. Now, partly because of the city’s own timelessness, but more from the effects of being a zet, I feel as if I am a part of this city and those memories.

Like I said, the term splitski zet doesn’t really translate well. It means much more than marrying a woman from Split.



Split Contradictions

Split is a place filled with quirky contradictions. For example, it has a huge church in the middle of palace built by a guy that hated Christianity (actually maybe that’s just ironic. TAKE THAT DIOCLETIAN!!). In winter I’m usually colder in Split than I am in Zagreb (lack of central heating). There is even a world championship tournament for a game that is, and can only be played on the beach Bačvice. And the biggest contradiction? The discrepancy between the pride people have in Split’s beauty and the negligence of its upkeep.

If I had a kuna for every time I heard: Split je najlipši grad na svitu (Split is the most beautiful city in the world), well... I would have a lot of kune.  Yes. Split is a beautiful city.  It’s got an ancient palace, it’s got powerful mountains rising right behind it, it’s got the sea with ideal islands dotting the horizon. Watching the sun set from Marjan or dallying in the early morning waters at Kašuni are some of life’s most gratifying moments. From a distance Split looks ideal, but once you step into the details, that ideal quickly morphs into a fog of frustration.

I’m talking about trash, litter, garbage, refuse. It’s not uncommon to arrive at the sea early in the morning only to have the beach and water spoiled by the detritus of last night’s fun. Cigarette butts and bottle caps spread out in in the rising sun, while a few plastic bags bob like dead bodies in the lapping waves.

In some places you expect to see trash. It is a given on a dead-end road in the middle-of-nowhere Oklahoma. The kind of place which local Okies will invariably turn into an impromptu dump. Old mattresses, smashed TV’s, spent shotgun shells and piles of tires sprout up like mushrooms on a forest floor. On the other hand, you don’t expect to see trash in one of the world cultural heritage sites right next to one of the world’s most beautiful bits of sea. Alas, it’s there and it’s frustrating because it is completely unnecessary, like an excess of makeup on an otherwise gorgeous woman.

Part of the problem maybe structural. The beach Žnjan probably gets thousands of visitors everyday in the high season and yet, there is hardly a trash can in sight. I eventually found one. A small square box a few meters from the actual beach. Of course in the course of the day it is overflowing and when you try to cram your own trash into it, it all spills out on the ground so then you say to yourself: Jebi ga. This can explain part of the problem. When I set my towel down I did so over a billion cigarette butts, a few bottle caps and even some used q-tips. Classy!

Sure, you might say this is the result of ignorant tourists coming and throwing their crap everywhere. But there is another piece to the puzzle. In the bit of grass outside of my punica’s apartment (what she calls the levada) I find a wide range of human derbis. Piles of cigarette butts gather in the dirty dead-zones under and around the benches. Rusty and shinny Karlovačko bottles caps poke their edges out of the scraggly grass. Lighters, batteries, shards of glass, clothespins, plastic atoms, and even a god damn spark plug plot along the well worn path. There are no tourists in this part of the town. This refuse is the result of late night loiters drinking and chain smoking while sitting on a bench. Or passerby who, for some reason, feel it is OK to toss their automotive parts into a park.

What the hell Split? Sure, every morning or every other morning someone from the city comes and picks up the big pieces of trash, but there is really only so much one person can gather in the course of a few minutes. Are the litterers waiting for their baka, mama or punica to come along and pick up their mess like they do at home? Well guess what? Mother nature isn’t your grandma!

For a guy from inland America, I have to drive 18 hours to get to a swimmable bit of ocean, its infuriating to see people treat a land as beautiful as Dalmatia like it’s some kind of trash dump. I would think that the people that live and breath by the sea, who pride themselves on the beauty of the coast and Split could do a bit better in keeping it clean. When someone tells me that Split is the most beautiful place in the world, I think: Yeah, it could be....

Some trash quickly collected around my towel on Žnjan, Split.

Summer of ZAGREB!!! Really? YES.

Ah, the Croatian summer: sunny days in an azure postcard; pale ancient stones, illuminated in the moonlight; the soft tones of the sea, gently slapping against hulls of the harbored boats; wining and dining inside a MOTHERF***ING, 2,000 YEAR OLD Roman F***ING palace! Summer in Croatia is magical! Of course, all of this magic is located on the country’s thin and oddly shaped coastline. When people think of Croatia they think of summer vacation, and when they think of summer vacation, they think of the Dalmatian coast. And fine, the coast is awesome, but I think Zagreb gets a bad rap in the summer months. In fact, the best time to live in Zagreb is. during. the. summer.

It is a testament to how coast crazy Croatians are when a metropolis of around a million people can shrink to such an extent that it feels like a small town in Oklahoma. Seriously. On some of my late night adventures I stumble through the streets of Zagreb and I am reminded of my similar stumbles as a student at a major university in Oklahoma. Now nothing kills a small Oklahoma college town like summer. Between May and August, the population of this town is cut in half, leaving you in the warm, sweltering crouch of the Bible belt with around 35,000 townies. While the exodus of students and professors took with it the finer culture of the town, Zagreb in the summer still retains its urban charms, just with fewer people. This is what makes Zagreb wonderful in the summer.

Now I admit, I tell friends of friends and distant family who ask me for advice on Croatian summer travel to um... basically... skip Zagreb. AND I STAND BY THIS!! If you are in Croatia for 5 days after seeing Prague and Budapest, well then there is really no reason for you to waste your time in the ZG (except to go to the Museum of Broken Relationships). Let’s face it, whatever Zagreb has, some other European city has it better. Old Churches? Prague’s got ‘em (and they are not in a perpetual state of repair), Art museums? Oh I don’t know: Paris has a few, Berlin too, Vienna, Budapest. Nightlife? I think Zagreb was voted the most boring capital in Europe. The joy of Zagreb in the summer only comes to those who live here.

As someone who has spent considerable amounts of time in Dalmatia during the summer as well as during the other seasons, the summer might actually be the worst time to be on the coast.

First, it is crazy crowded. Parking anywhere is impossible and actually becomes an act of inspired (desperate) creativity. It’s amazing what can constitute a parking space in Split in the summer. The sliver of pavement beside that tree: PARKING SPACE! That impossibly narrow space between a dumpster and a wall: PARKING SPACE! That spot that looks too small, no it’s not, yes it is, I’m just going to trrrrrry, and you’re right too tight, but we are still going to do it. Everywhere and anywhere becomes a PARKING SPACE (as your bumper grinds against another bumper, pole, house, or rock).

Second, it’s crazy loud. I don’t know about you, but I actually find it difficult to fall asleep to the bass thumping from a mid-1990s BMW that for some reason is just idling below my bedroom window in the wee A.M. hours. Nor do the piercing whines of screaming mopeds crisscrossing the city as they deliver food serve as a nighttime lullaby. Crowds, tourists, mopeds, young drunks, late-night bench sitters, woo girls with straw pork-pie hats, all of these shatter Dalmatia’s natural beauty and old ambiance like a fat brick through glass.

But then, there are those moments of respite when you drift in the sea with the taste of salt on your lips and the scent of pine wafting in the air. Then you see how the Dinaric Alps, looming large behind you, and the silhouettes of the nearby islands fall into the most perfect composition. Briefly, you believe that God must be an artist to have created the Croatian coast, and you feel an inner peace overtake you. A tranquil harmony has calmed your heart. Of course then you have to get out of the water, find your car, try to get out of your impossible parking space just to find another impossible parking space all over again when you get to your mother-in-law’s house. Gah! So much for bliss and zen.

Zagreb in the summer has none of these problems. It might not have the scenery of the Adriatic sea, but it also doesn’t have the headaches that go along with it. It’s the opposite of crazy crowded. It’s crazy empty. But, there are still enough people around that you don’t feel like you’ve been dropped on the set of a post-Apocalyptic zombie film. Summer Zagreb becomes like a big playground for those of us who remain. Parking? Always a free space. Lines? Gone. Traffic? None. The crowds that clog the winter gray have dissipated like the fog and left you in a sunny, spacious wonderland. You can even believe that all of it, the cafes, parks, social services, movie theaters, museums, book stores and restaurants, have all been created just. for. you!!

Take Bundek for example. In the off-season months there is usually a huge line of kids climbing up to the biggest slide. And NOTHING is more fun than trying to get a bunch of 3 to 5 year-olds to stand in line (they need this training for later). In the summer though, my daughter can go down the slide as many times as she wants because there is no one else around. Or at the doctor. We were able to see two doctors and go to the hospital all in one day with only a total 20 minute wait time. Grocery store? No people, no line. Nighttime noise? The night’s calm is only rarely broken by the whine of a mo-ped, or the bass of a car. They soon pass, leaving in their wake a pleasant quietude.

Sometimes it seems that the very things we want to take a vacation from, actually come with us. Spending a summer in Zagreb is a nice vacation from everyone else’s vacation.



Defiance! The indifference of Croatian Dads

Before growing into my role as a father I had a very stereotyped view of Croatian dads. To me they were men characterized by indifference. I saw fathers at the park whose lack of interest in what their child was doing bordered between nonchalance and negligence. Their kids climbed wildly, they threw rocks without consequence, they broke many of the playground’s social mores. And the dads just seemed kinda of like jerks who were too-cool for school to be bothered. That was how I saw Croatian dads until I became one. Now I understand. Now I know what we are doing. And our conscious lack of concern is vital to the healthy development of our children, Croatian society, and the country.

A Croatian father’s apparent disregard for parenting, especially while at the playground is actually a crucial step in fostering his child’s development. Without it our kids would be messed up for life! See, our insouciance is actually the counterweight to the overwhelming, unobstructed anxious attention our wives and mother-in-laws (punice) direct at our children. Before becoming a parent in Croatia, and before moving here, I had always imagined parenting in the Balkans was quite careless. I don’t know why, but for some reason I assumed Croatians treated parenting like they treated time, either with dispassionate scorn or the most minimal level of concern. Of course the exact opposite is true. Croatians, especially the lady folk, are crazy about their kids’ well being. In fact, Croatian mothers and grandmothers have three overriding, constant concerns about their kids: 1) Food. It is believed that a child will starve if not fed frequently, very frequently. 2) Clothing. It is believed a child will freeze to death if not clothed adequately. 3) Danger. It is believed that a fall from any height, no matter how close to the ground, can easily kill a child or at least inflict grave injury.

OK, yes we all need to eat and we all need to wear clothes, but the maternal instinct of a Croatian mother or grandmother believes starving and freezing to death can turn on a dime (or a lipa?). A sudden uptick in the breeze OH MY GOD PUT ON A JACKET! Sitting on a cold curb, regardless of the outdoor ambient temperature, YOU ARE GONNA GET INFLAMMATION OF THE KIDNEYS, BLADDER, OR BRAIN! Not wanting to eat something after eating an hour ago: YOU ARE GOING TO DIE OF MALNUTRITION! (PS: this fear of malnutrition is intensified given your child’s refusal to eat whatever food comes from your wife’s hometown or region, i.e. blitva and fish.) Thus, the playground is filled with fear-stricken women clutching jackets and hats, holding out extended snacks, chasing after a motley of children.

After the kids have eaten and put on their jackets they usually like to climb on things. The mothers and bakas (grandmas) are there to remind them that they will fall, saying repeatedly as if it were a mantra: Ćeš past. Ćeš past. You’ll fall. You’ll fall. I feel like the life of a Croatian kid (and actually this nannying can last until you are in your 30s) is to be continuously harassed about the dangers of not eating, not wearing enough clothes, and taking unnecessary risks.

We, the fathers, bring the balance. I love my daughter and would hate for anything to happen to her, but when we go to the playground or to Zrinjevac I fight those initial instincts to tell her to be careful. I try to be as hands off as possible. What may look like my cool indifference is actually a sign of my utmost concern. By letting her challenge herself or deal with playground squabbles by herself, I feel like I’m teaching her the skills to negotiate life’s bigger obstacles. The ones that will inevitably come and for which I know I cannot always be there.  I find that I’ve begun to trust her and her judgement. She tells me when she is hungry, she tells me when she is cold.

My daughter has even started trying to climb trees. In her attempts to climb to a new height I imagine the influence of my behavior echoing back to me from our uncertain future. She reaches for a new branch, looks at me and asks: “Daddy, are you scared?”

“No.” I say. Not at all.

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European Vacation or 'Oh no! Americans!'



Every year between 10-12 million Americans visit Europe. Ever since independence it seems many Americans have been fascinated with the idea of a return to the land of their great-great-grandparents, even if just for a summer vacation. Even for those of us who don’t manage to traverse the skies for Europe, the longing for that other shore exists within us. This is especially evident in the diaspora communities that dot the American landscape. Irish, Italians, Croats, Serbs, Latvians, Poles,  all of us celebrate the lands that once made our ancestors refugees ( I’m sure so do non-European Americans from  Central or South America, Vietnam, the Philippines, China or Japan who want to glimpse their past homelands). Can our Croatian and European readers understand what it is like to have an imaginary connection to a place you’ve never been before? Beneath the buzz of life in America exists an idea tugging at the back of our consciousness. Deep down, there is, in every American, the half-hearted hope that we will one day return. While the constraints of finance, travel and language dampen the likelihood of an ancestral homecoming, we can still feel ourselves grasping for it. And so, some of us indulge our fate and come back, if not to our proper homeland then at least to a generalized equivalent, Europe.

Now for all this talk about vacationing Americans, like they are all on some noble voyage of soul searching, spend any amount of time (no matter how brief) among American tourists, and you’ll find that we mostly find Europe annoying. It is cramped, there is no ice in any of our drinks, no free refills, limits on air-conditioning, cigarette smoke everywhere, smelly public transport, too few McDonalds, crappy customer service, and a billion other little things that make HERE too different from THERE. Beneath a sheen of sweat, nursing our blistered feet and wishing to God we could get a 40.oz styrofoam cup of cold Dr. Pepper, we believe we finally understand why our great-great whoever got the hell out of here. And yet, we keep coming back.

Despite these superficial annoyances, Europe still holds a deeper fascination for Americans. It is easiest to understand the ‘wonders of Europe’ when you think about its age compared to the US. The age of stuff around Europe is just mind-boggling to us. For example, Zagreb is 1,000 years old. A. THOUSAND. That’s 900 years older than Oklahoma has even been a state. Split is like 2,000 years old. Paris? Old. London? Old. Rome? Super old. Athens? Hella old. The secret that attracts us to Europe’s agelessness is the mystery of its own persistence.  The age difference between the US and Europe is so great that we are puzzled at how a language, culture, lifestyle, let alone the buildings, monuments, and streets that make each city’s geography, can endure for so long.

Not only is our country young, but most of us living in the US have only lived here a generation or two. Even when someone’s family tree goes all the way back to the Mayflower, the rest of the tree’s branches and roots are jumbled with immigrants who arrived not so long ago. Now, granted, this diversity is one of the US’s greatest strengths. I am proud of the fact that my ancestry consists of Irish, French, Italian and Prussian people. But, it also speaks to the fluid waves that have washed over our past, eroding it. In some ways we are but the flotsam and jetsam of great upheaval come to rest in a new land. By the very nature of our immigrant roots, the past is obscured. Everything in the US is then new(-ish).

In Croatia, on the other hand, I have a friend whose father has been able to trace his family tree back 400 years, IN THE SAME PLACE! Another friend (from Imotski no less) met someone when we were out and they both realized that their families had been friends for over 100 years! As kids they had both played in the same yard of the same two houses that all of their relatives had played and lived in for the last 100 YEARS! I can’t imagine that. Really. I’m torn between thinking that living in the same area for 400 years is either wonderful or incredibly boring. The bearing that such a long continuity can have one someone’s outlook is incomprehensible to me (and I imagine to most Americans). What is it like to have the same neighbors for 100 (or maybe even 400) years! (In the US, I move around every 3-4 years and usually try to avoid my neighbors as much as possible. Why make friends when you’re just going to move). Now imagine what these long and consistent relationships do for a society. Is this why there is so little street crime in Croatia and Europe? Because the criminal might easily know the victim or the victim’s uncle? Hell they could be related! I imagine there is some comfort or ease that comes with knowing some of the same families for over 100 years. Or at least knowing that you’ve all known each other for 100 years.

To us, Europe is Europe because it appears immutable, from its ancient ruins, medieval castles, to its enduring relationships. This fixedness is what we are longing for in the US. Our European dreams are to know what it is like to belong to a place, a culture, and history that is not as ephemeral as life in the US. I believe that a lot of the fear that grips American society is rendered, in part, by the absence of such permanence. The US is unique as a result of its dynamism, and yet when compared to Europe, it is easy to feel as if our time is but a blip on the screen of history. We fear it may be transient after all. So, some of us come back in hope that we can go forward.



Fashion



Whenever I fly back to Oklahoma I feel like I’m shedding layers of culture, like a snake sheds skin. The move from Europe to Mid-America takes me from a place where almost everything has an air of elegance, from the small cups of coffee to my finely dressed compatriots flying alongside me, and drops me in a place where elegance is a word more likely to be mistaken for elephant. At each successive gate, at each successive airport I can tell I’m getting closer to home by the decrease in concern for outward appearance and an increase in concern for jumbo sized everything. Finally, I arrive at the gate for Tulsa, Oklahoma and a little bit of me dies inside. Sure it’s one step away from home, but it’s also filled with people wearing sweatpants, shorts with calf-high white socks, matching his-n-hers Eskimo Joe’s shirts, flip-flops, tank tops that hardly hide tufts of armpit hair, and oversized basketball shorts on a pack slack-jawed yokels. While the US may have our security agencies reading our emails and monitoring our phone calls, one thing we clearly do not have are the fashion police.

Imagine going from Split where you see and laugh at the poorly dressed tourists and then ending up on a plane, then in a state and finally a city filled with them. This is me each time I go home. It wasn’t always this way. My first summer in Split I was decked out in my white socks, shorts, and tennis shoes ready to hit the riva. I was quickly informed that I was ready to go nowhere. My punica forbade (YES! FOR-BADE) me from leaving the house in what I had been leaving the house in my whole life. At the time I thought this was a little repressive. I figured why should this lady care what I WEAR out. It’s not like people on the riva will know that I’m her son-in-law (actually, I later learned it is totally like that). I actually believe my mother-in-law was trying to save me from myself. Another time I went to the center in a raggedy old hooded sweatshirt and felt like a homeless man (except homeless men in Croatia are dressed better than this). Feeling out of place by a publicly inadequate level of dress was a new experience for me. In the US, anything goes.

Croatians are generally a pretty stylish bunch. Though not everyone dresses or looks the same. There are people who dress more alternatively, there are hipsters, punks and goths. There are people who (attempt) to dress stylishly what we would call preps, or trendy folks. There are the super stylish, the fashionistas. And there are caykuša. There is really no translation for caykuša. No matter which style one adopts people here are dressed with a self-awareness or self-consciousness that demonstrates a commitment to looking good: Stylistically diverse, but stylish nonetheless. Even at the university here I have never seen someone that looks like they just rolled out of bed, slipped on some pants just off the floor and strolled out into the day (that, by the way, is basically how I rolled all through undergrad). Even when my students come in hungover their eyes might look like boiled eggs slathered in Tobasco sauce, but their clothes are ironed.

There is, however, one puzzle piece in the mosaic of Croatian fashion and that is the asymmetrical gender standards. Really. It’s not uncommon to see a woman who looks and is dressed like a super model at Bau Max or wherever with a dude wearing track suit pants, a t-shirt and a fanny pack (still ironed though). I mean this guy is really one pair of white socks away from being an Oklahoman. In America we are equal opportunity eyesores. You can see a man dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt from a Bible study camp he went to in 1996 and in the same tacky gaze lay witness to large woman wearing an oversized tweety bird t-shirt and a pair of butt-tight turquoise shorts. Those images are just a fact of life. What I don’t get about Croatia is how the women often dress like they fell out of the pages of a fashion magazine and the dudes dress like my uncle right after he’s mowed the lawn. And they’ll be TOGETHER.

Growing up in America I rebelled against the idea that we should have socially imposed norms. This led me to dying my hair and sporting a mohawk (something Croatians call an iroquois for some reason). As a result of the counter-culture or the fact that we spend most of our time with the television, which can’t see what we are wearing, it feels like there is no longer any social demands for how one should look and dress. There was actually a time when men couldn’t go outside without wearing a hat! Nowadays we have signs telling people they have to wear pants to enter McDonald’s!  On each return to the US part of me wants people to have enough pride, dignity, or self-respect to dress like they give a damn about life. This is not say that people shouldn’t dress in a way that helps them express themselves, please do. Conscious self-expression, an outward sign that you have an inner awareness about yourself is wonderful. White socks and shorts, sweat pants and “comfortable clothes,” sloppiness of any sort at the airport, trg, riva, or anywhere public, just suggests you are not only unaware, you’re probably comatose.



Now here is a David Bowie video.

Fashion by David Bowie


A bit about LINES

The longest lines I have ever seen were at Disney World in 1988. Actually, Disney World seemed to be nothing but lines, something Croatia and “the happiest place on earth” have in common. The difference being that most of the lines at Disney World end with you getting on a ride like Pirates of the Caribbean or The Haunted Mansion. Most lines in Croatia end with you stooping over to talk to someone through a narrow slit cut into a glass window.

Croatian lines are but symbols of the country’s discriminatory (and often dysfunctional) system. On either side of the glass partition it is US and THEM. Them who have the power, the information, access. Them, the nurses, the bureaucrats, the ticket sellers. The queue is like the thread of life and we line up before the Fates, waiting to see if we get to see the doctor, if we have all of our paper work in order for our visa, I.D., parking permit. Or we line up just to ask where we can find the other line. Do you want something in Croatia? Yes? THEN GET IN LINE!!!

Believe it or not, but this is not how it is in the US. Now, I thought I understood lines when living in America, but after befriending several people from former-Communist countries I was informed that we, Americans, know nothing of lines. We do have lines in the US, but they are temporary affairs. Like a spring shower, not a storm.

You know how when you go to McDonald’s and if you stand in line for a few seconds someone will hop onto the next register and ask if they can help you? Well, its pretty much like that EVERYWHERE in America. There are no glass partitions in the doctor’s office. There are no doors that are impossible to open from the outside. Service, anywhere, is quick. If its not, then you get to complain. You get to remember people’s names, talk to managers and supervisors. You hear apologies and assurances that it won’t happen again. Even if you are stuck in line, you still feel empowered.

In Croatia, nothing drains your sense of agency faster than standing in line. Anything you have done in your life, the very things that give you some sense of self-worth have been stripped away, leaving nothing but the barebones of a pathetic, insignificant existence. You’re just another corpse in purgatory. Another number in the factory. And just when you start to take some solace in the fact that before the line we are all equal you see one of the chosen float to the front. You see an individual bathed in the divine light of favor, progressing ahead of everyone else. This angelic spirit has been gifted with the wings of veze, a heavenly connection gifted by her devotion to the gods. She sails forward. And you wait with the rest of the bums.

At this point the line descends into chaos. It morphs from a row of people waiting into a clump of animals herding, trying to get closer and closer to its end. Maneuvering through this huddle requires artistry. Years of practice seem to pay off. The older ladies are able to call the nurse by name, asking about her relations, holiday or some other personal detail lost to the rest of us. These pleasantries are like a verbal foot in the door, enabling the interlocutor to then plead to be taken ahead of her turn. For those of us lacking in the conversational talents we at least have one gift, elbows. Amid the herd we stick our arms out akimbo blocking the frail and advantage seeking senior citizens. We push and jostle until finally we press against the partition or threshold, and then like everyone else we plead our case, hoping for admittance.

I’m not sure why there is such a difference between the service one receives in the US and what we get in Croatia. It might be a scarcity of resources. Employers often keep the number of on-duty employees to a minimum. Or it might be a difference in protocol. When I worked in a large chain of bookstores lines were as hated by management as they were by the customers. If more than four people queued before the register we called for back up, just like the police. Then everyone everywhere stopped what they were doing and came to expedite customers through the line. During the holiday rush we gave out free coffee and samples of food from the in-store Starbucks. In terms of state institutions you would think that in a country with 200,000 civil servants, who are largely paid with the taxed 47% of our income and the 25% sales tax on everything, there would be more than enough people available to speed up our wait time. Then again, perhaps the long lines endure, just like the glass partitions, in order to preserve that power imbalance between those who makes us wait, and those of us who are waiting.