On studying forever

One of my favorite subjects in Germany is just how long people seem to study without anybody else seeming to notice or care. One institute, which shall remain nameless, describes a ten semester (i.e. five year) programme on its web site, and then announces that the average time for students to finish is fifteen semesters (i.e. seven and a half years). And of course an average means a tail to the long end, since few students will finish in less than five years, so that means there must be a good number that take 8 or 9 years.

Precisely the same thing often happens in Serbia and probably Croatia and many other places in the region and around the world. I've been repeatedly astonished to hear that many of Gs friends are still studying for their first degree. This is something G herself finished in 1999 and something which is a dim and distant memory for me. At first I would ask if the person were very young, but now it is more or less established that many people just drift along for 8, 9, 10 even 11 years without anybody really commenting. Perhaps a dozen times we've tried to meet up with one or other of her old friends, only to be told (for example by parents) that they musn't be disturbed because they have an important exam and need to study. This at the age of (say) 32 when they've already been studying for 9 years, they live at home and almost invariably have a couple of older female relations cooking and cleaning for them.

What, I ask, is going on? I guess the truth is that when people have little to look forward to in the job market, they prefer to linger as a student rather than get on with their lives. Having all the home comforts around probably isn't the best thing either. I'd be willing to bet that students in (say) Novi Sad that come from (say) Srenjenin and thus pay more for lodging and experience all the usual pizza-boxes, rat-infestations and the like that student housing offers will finish quicker.

I think as well that the weaker the University in terms of international standing, the less inclined the faculty are to get people finished. I don't know if this is because the staff have something to prove (i.e. our course is too difficult to finish in the specified time), or if they want students to stay on as cheap labour when grants are non-existent or difficult to get, or for some other reason.

In the AngloSaxon Universities, at least as I remember mine from the eighties, a four year degree is nearly always done in four years. You can take longer (say five) if you can afford it but normally you would need to have a good reason (e.g. illness, family problems, etc.). The conventional wisdom is that if people can't handle it, they drop out and do something else.

Anyway, I don't have much to offer in terms of advice apart from obviously finish quicker. And perhaps be critical about advice from either your family (who probably wrongly think you can't handle the stress and why don't you take this exam next year) and academic staff who might have some hidden agenda to stop you from getting through too quickly.

Naming a baby Balkan

For only the obvious reasons I've been thinking about names in Serbian/Croatian. What kind of name can you give to a baby girl with a mixed heritage? Amidst all the Jelenas, Tanjas, Mirjanas, Tijanas & Bojanas, there are some real gems. Some beautiful, and some, well, even if they are not ugly, they are, well, difficult.

I think that SerboCroatian produced some of the funniest names in history. For example, quaint, charming, and out-of-the-question for us is Traktorka, probably given to many peasant farmers' daughters in the newly industrialised Yugoslavia as a tribute to the biggest equipment purchase of his life. It would be like an American calling his daughter Fixedtermilina or something. Right up there with Hitlerina is Staljinka, derived from the short-lived friendship with the Soviet Union. Equally frightening is Mašinka , which I read is a direct tribute not (as you might think from the sound) to machine, but to a Tommy Gun (machine gun). It does, however, have a cute diminuitve: Maša which you might never associated with an implement of war. Admittedly these are all names G's grandmother's generation, and I doubt many people kept them to the present day.

Elsewhere there are relatively common names that would stymie easy friendships with the English speaking world only owing to unpronouncability. For example, Ksena and Tihana both require you essentially to gob while saying them. Other names look like somebody forgot a letter, like Smiljka which I have simply never been able to say correctly quickly, or the male name Grgur (Gregory or Gregor) that would at least require some coaching for the non-Serbian family members to pronounce. To this day my family members have to do a little jump when they pronounce the island Krk and even then they don't say it right.

I think, on balance, we can't be too creative here. Two syllables max, and no messing about with R-as-a-vowel, or sounds that hurt the mouth of a non-native speaker. Ana, Marija, Mila, Ema?

Blowing hot and cold about Serbia and this blog

It's been a while since I blogged anything here, and perhaps the reason why is worthy itself of an entry. Being honest: we've had a few rather bad experiences in or about Serbia over the past few months. Nothing that serious, but just enough to dampen my enthusiasm to the point where I haven't felt inspired to write anything for a while.

I remember in Bill Bryson's Notes from a Small Island (his tribute to life in Britain), he said that a smile from a pub owner, or a pleasant sunset in the English countryside would be enough to make him think that he should never leave the country. Something of the opposite has happened recently to me regarding Serbia. As I said, nothing that serious, but just an accumulation of things that have dampened my enthusiasm.

Its a funny ole relationship that one has with these countries sometimes. A real mix of hope and despondency. Meeting an enthusiastic young person in the workplace can make you believe that there is great hope, and some ape-like, un-intelligent staunch nationalist on the street can tear it away. Grace, charm and courtesy shown by some stranger in a restaurant is ruined by some pushy Balkan stereotype in a swimming pool threatening to punch a pregnant woman (I kid you not). A deep sense of family can make you think that other countries have a thing or two to learn from the ex-Yugoslavia, but then the ass-backwards logic that one has to adhere to in order participate makes you think that they actually have it wrong. Pleasant scenery in the countryside is offset by the mud and pollution of Novi Sad in February. Et cetera.

As ever, other countries are similar, and having been an ex-pat basically all my adult life, I know well that one often simultaneously loves and hates where one lives or visits. I guess its the extremes in Serbia or Croatia that are the difference. As much as I whinge about Germany or the Germans, I don't ever really feel afraid or worried like I can do in Serbia. English people can be rude, but never on a par with what can sometimes happen in Serbia. It's as if there's this precarious control mechanism that can both pleasantly surprise or deeply terrify without warning.

Anyway, it will blow hot again, and when it does, I'll be back at it.

Differences in perceived worth: the IKEA phenomenon

Like just about anybody in the west, I've spent a good amount of time in Ikea. As a student in Canada they furnished my student room, and since then I've accumulated dozens of things. I guess it isn't my favorite furniture, and it tends towards the cheaply made side, but it is relatively easy, and neither outrageously ugly nor outrageously expensive like so much of what is available in Germany (in my humble opinion). A necessary evil: if I had more money, time, inclination, I would go elsewhere, but alas, I don't.

It surprised me a little, then, to find out that there is something of a craze in the former Yugoslavia for Ikea furniture. People in Novi Sad, for instance, will drive to Hungary to place orders and then usually charge some kind of premium for the service. And it seems the second hand stuff sells like wildfire, and at a hefty price. And it isn't just furniture. Much as I hate to admit it, before our last visit to Serbia, we bought a lot of the kind of Ikea stuff that I normally avoid on the basis that it is just them flogging us things we don't need: rucksacks, cookies, little plastic gizmos, pen holders, Swedish vodka (for chrissakes). We did this for presents, which by and large were greatly appreciated as something good. I mean Ikea - super je.

There are a lot of other things like this in Serbia: Addidas is a fashion label, not a sport shoe-maker; Nescafe is a luxury, not a convenience - they even sell it in Duty-Free in Belgrade Airport. I also found it rather strange during a visit of my mother in law they way she would handle some of my things. For example, some Ikea 50 cent napkins, bought in a hurry to accommodate guests, were hand-washed, ironed and put carefully away whereas my precious hand-made, very expensive, one-of-a-kind, Provencal napkins bought during a holiday some years ago were used to clean paint brushes. Ditto cheap 1 Euro glasses were hand-washed and dried, while 25 pound apiece, lead-crystal glasses from Harrod's were used to hold paint-thinner (you couldn't see the Ikea label on the latter).

I'm not trying to have a go at the taste of people in Serbia, but rather to point out that one values things for different reasons. It is, I must admit, quaint in a kind of genteel way to see how cheap-as-chips things in the west are so covetted in former communist countries. I always remember with a smile the first post-Glasnost Russians (scientists, lawyers, doctors, whoever) arriving in the west in the early nineties, and how within days they would all being decked out in white trainers and acid-washed Levi's circa 1984.

What is ironic to me, however, is that it was only in Serbia that I started to appreciate the worth of things - well made things, long-lasting things. At least when I started going there people bought things to last, and checked out the material and the stitching. This was in contrast to my typically western Gap/Zara/Ikea approach which consists of buying a lot of cheap clothes and renewing them every year when they wear out. To see people being converted into this label-only, it-isn't-cheap-if-I-see-a-name kind of culture is a bit sad.

Or maybe I'm just a sentimental old fart. Oh, to hell with it, buy and enjoy what you like!

The real Serbian mentality

My mother-in-law recently gave me A Guide to the Serbian Mentality, by Momo Kapor. I was looking forward to reading it, mostly as it looked on the surface to be a bit like "How to be a Brit" by George Mikes, which was a great humorous read, and how else, I thought, could you write such a book. Through the humor both foreigners and British people alike learned a lot about who they are. These kinds of books, so I thought, just have to be funny to work.

As to Kapor's book: not my cup of tea. I'll spare you a lot of detailed criticism, but the book is neither what I expected, nor terribly funny, and moreover I found it rather over-sentimental and even nationalistic in places. Proud Serbian traditions, people, places, etc. But very little poking fun. Where, I wondered, was the true impression of the Serbian mentality?

As to men, I think there is a certain humorous side to the mentality of the Balkan man. The first time I heard the term "typical Balkan man" was during a Croatian course for a boat license. Every time the Lucka Kapitan had to refer to some not-so-bright, but nevertheless righteous local he would say "Now imagine I'm a typical Balkan man" and then go on to describe some stupidity-meets-boat-related incident to make his point. There is a kind of chest-thumping, know-everything attitude that can lead to all kinds of humorous situations - particularly when they gather in significant numbers, or meet people from outside of Serbia/Croatia. Almost Borat-like at times, but with a peculiar Balkan charm.

As to women, of course (as the book points out) Serbian women are beautiful, but there is also a funny side to their mentality. Here it is a more, dress-to-kill, stand in the corner and smoke, little bit grumpy, very sultry, and, well again, pretty funny.

I sense what I would love to read is a book about the more humorous, lighter side of the Serbian mentality - meaning how the people behave, and not what the cities or restaruants in the country are like. I think Serbians (and other Balkans) pride themselves on being funny, but as for Germany, I've never noticed a great tendency to laugh at oneself. I firmly believe that problems like nationalism arise out of certain self-righteousness that often goes along with a tendency to take oneself, one's community, or one's country a bit too seriously. In Serbia, the Balkans (and many other places to be sure) a good dose of self-effacement could be a good thing.

The wrong rung of the social ladder

We had a Serbian lunch yesterday, complete with home-made Gibanica and Ajvar. The mother of one of our work friends was visiting from Belgrade, and we spent a pleasant afternoon in a little Serbicised corner of Heidelberg. A good deal of the discussion, as ever, was about whether or not to move back to Serbia. Our friends are both Serbian, and often think of moving home. One of the things she was mentioning yesterday was ones social standing in the countries in which so many Balkan people now live: France, Germany, Austria, the US. One can be the king of the hill in Serbia, but when you move somewhere else, you end up on the bottom rung of the social ladder. And as a result one ends up mingling with people outside your normal social group in the new country. Our friend was telling us that they - with four college degrees between them - regularly attend parties with Serbians or Croatians that are truly working class: cleaners, laborers, etc. Something that is mostly unheard of in - well - anywhere.

Examples are everywhere. Consider the old friends of G.'s parents: they moved to Calgary for work. He had been a leading petroleum engineer in Serbia, but found himself being placed with entry level engineers. I think they like living in Canada for many reasons, but struggle to cope with the loss of status. Most people start to wonder, indeed, if it isn't better to go home and face whatever reality they have to face there - lower salaries, lack of work, etc. - if only to be better off in terms of connections and social standing.

It isn't, of course, a problem unique to Serbians in Europe. It is everywhere. Poles moving the UK, Russians moving to Israel, and many others all make the same comments. The university professor turned street cleaner is a well-worn cliche.

I think the problem that most Westerners have with understanding this, is that we normally don't move countries out of shear necessity. Normally those who go abroad are doing so by choice, and more often than not it is the opportunity of a lifetime that allows somebody to take direct advantage of skills gained at home and needed abroad. And if things go foul, we can usually return home, without too much lost in the process. For those moving out of a need to support families, the situation is alas different.

I guess my message is that the next time you hear a foreigner struggling to make him or herself understood in a language that he/she probably learned after the age of 30, that possibly you might nevertheless be in the presence of a genius or at least somebody that you would like to know better or perhaps possibly admit onto your social network. You never know, maybe - in exchange for just a modicum of respect - they have a house on the Croatian/Bulgarian/Romanian coast (free holidays!), or can get your foot in the door into something lucrative in a country you don't understand.

More little countries

The situation in Georgia reminds me again about the force of nationalism. I don't pretend to understand the situation at all, but I presume that again there are multiple groups of people who a) don't like each other, b) treat each other badly, and c) probably deserve each other. And as for the whole Serbia/Kosovo thing, I don't know what to think. Separation is a good thing as it might stop the bitterness, but a bad thing because it provides another example that groups can't co-exist. It is a good thing as we should acknowledge groups of people their right to self goverment, but a bad thing because the new divisions often go along with the creation of small, embittered and often badly treated minorities inside them. And on and on.

But frankly, my biggest problem with dividing big countries into smaller ones is that I begin to wonder why we need all these silly little countries and what good does it do in the long run? Drunk a few months ago I was arguing with a Nationalist Catalan friend of mine, and my final comments were along the lines of "why do you want to create another bullshit little country?" and "what, another Switzerland? Sheesh." Drunk or not, I think I may have had a point.

Smaller countries don't just create additional currencies and border crossings, but actually divulge power into smaller and smaller pieces. What chance of a powerful voice in Europe does (say) Slovenia have compared to (say) Poland? Sure, they can be members of the EU, they can join Nato, etc. but will any of the big players in the world really listen to them? When I think of the former Yugoslavia, exactly this force - namely the desire by neighbors not to have an over-ambitious all-slavic nation - was very often behind the politics. Italy and Austria, for instance, were always vetoing the early Yugoslavia pretty clearly for this reason. Originally it was because they thought it easier to make land claims on a set of smaller countries, but perhaps those now running Italy and Germany and France and England have, at the back of their political consciousness, a desire not to have another Poland storming into Europe, but a series of smaller, rinky-dink countries that are easier to manipulate.

I don't pretend that such a view addresses any of the complexities of the Georgia or Kosovo situations, but it is at least something that a semi-nationalist might like to remember. United we stand; divided we have less influence.