Who can beat me-well done!
Do I look like a stranger to you?
There is a picture of myself on the blog, and if you've regularly read my blog, you could have seen many of my pictures. So, do I then look like a stranger? Ok, I might not look like a Bosnian (Bosniacis Vulgaris), but a stranger?
Anyhow, I decided to describe one story that I'd already promised to write about. Now that the summer heat is at its peak and there are no many novelties in my life, it's the ideal opportunity to finally do so.
The story begins in late August in the year of the Lord 2005. My volunteering summer in Sarajevo has just ended and I'm going back home for a few days and then back to the University.
I'm entering Sarajevo Railway Station, wearing gigantic red backpack (onetime Jimbo-treveler trademark) and a sort of gayish-youthful-formal bag is dangling on my shoulder. I'm still holding a cigarette butt in my mouth, wearing my, at that time still long, hair in a pony tale and greasy glasses (an actual trademark of Jimbo Vulgaris). Hanging on my neck there is also my former fancy SERIKSON pinned with the Sarajevo Film Festival drkadžulik (drkadžulik is that pendant one wears around one's neck).
I'm approaching the window and the lady there gazed at my tall-handsome-blond physiognomy, just as I really am.
-“Good evening. Ticket to Vrpolje please....errr...Strizivojna-Vrpolje sation.”The lady gave me somehow confused look:
-“So you are not a foreigner?”Now I give her a somehow confused look and said:
-“In fact, I am a foreigner.”
The lady from the window, now even more confused, said:
-“Well, I have to say that you are very good in Bosnian.”The funny thing was that exactly at that time I was struggling to pass the Bosnian language exam, so I just said with a smile:
-“Well, I really try hard, but with little success.”
-“No, no…you do great, you have this specific accent, but again, I’d never say you’re not Bosnian…according to your accent, of course.”
I didn’t know what this “according to the accent” was supposed to mean, I guess that it was more than obvious that I’m not Bosnian. As for the accent, that’s my idiosyncratic dialect that could be named Jimboz Unique which is the hodgepodge of Slavonic (from Slavonija, eastern part of Croatia), brodski (from Slavonski Bord, city in Slavonija) to be precise, Sarajevo slang, and central Bosnian dialect.
That’s why when I come to Brod they mock me that I speak like Edo Maajka while in Sarajevo they laugh at my Slavonic “stretching”. In the end, it’s only me being happy with how I speak.
Anyhow, I bought the ticket, took another cigarette from my Drina pack, turned around and saw a young lady with a sobbing face standing in front of me. The tears were gushing from her slanting, and beautiful I have to say, eyes. It was a real Japanese girl. Japanese, as she had that very moment flown from Yokohama.
You probably wonder how I can distinguish Japanese from, say, Korean, Chinese, Vietnamese or some other Asian. Well, not long before that encounter, I found a military manual on the Internet that had been given to Americans when going to the Pacific battlefield and, if I remember well, it was called "How to tell Jap from our asian allies". A picture-book too crazy, but, it apparently helped me.
So I gave her the confused look, she looked at me through tears, I gave her a smile and continued my way. After only a few steps I heard how she, with a sobbing voice, tried to talk to that lady behind the window who didn’t pay a slightest attention to her. I stopped, took a deep breath and turned. Just to make it clear, I’m not some altruist acting like a Mother Teresa but, fuck, woman’s tears are my weak spot.
I reached the window and asked:
-“Off to Budapest?”She gave me a confused look with her eyes full of tears and nodded.
-“Please, a ticket to Budapest for a girl.”
-“One way or return?”-said the lady behind the window and I turned to my new friend:
-“One way?”- to which she just nodded again.
-“One way”.
-“82,50”-or some similar amount said the lady and I translated it to the girl.
My new friend gave me 100 marks, I gave them to the lady and then gave her back her kusur (change) and the ticket. She was still confused as I was leaving.
I made but few steps when I got that my little Asian friend had been following me like a lost poppy that I had just fed. So I waited for her.
She finally spoke: -“Do you go to Budapest?”As much as I wanted to go to Budapest, I had a yen for Slavonia at that moment.
-“No, Croatia.”
-“Croatia?”
-“Yeah, Croatia…small country for a big vacation.”
I’ve got no clue why I said that. The tears were still gushing from her eyes and I thought that I must have had some tissues somewhere in my backpack. So I stopped, took of my backpack and somewhere under the cigarette box I found tissues.
-“Here you go.”
-“Oh, thank you…”-she said and wiped off the tears.
Then I took her to the shop and bought two bottles of half-litre Jana. My new friend was looking and asked me to buy one for her too. So I bought one for her to which she started digging into her wallet while I simply waved and said:
-“It’s on me”-I might not be an altruist but I’m a gentleman.
She was surprised with what I’d just done, even though I have no clue why.We sat together in a compartment and then she began talking. From her story I found out why she was so surprised with my behaviour; that is, the guilty ones for her tears were, tan-tan ta-raaaaan!!-GRAS officers. The girl bought the ticket for the trolleybus but, of course, she didn’t know that she had to confirm it inside so she immediately found herself under attack of bunch of blue rebels called revizori. I do admit that they really are bastards sometimes. However, I explained her that she had only needed to send them to hell and they would have run away like rats when they escape from the sinking boat. Anyhow, in spite of so many times mentioned Sarajevo hospitality, she had to come across Šokac to get some help. I mean, it’s not that I’m blowing my own trumpet, but…
So we were sitting in that compartment, talking about everything. I got to know she was from Japan (surprise, surprise), that she studied German and English in Mannheim and that she was travelling around Europe (why on earth alone…). She’d already been to Turkey, then in Dubrovnik, Sarajevo and then she was heading to Budapest. As far as I remember, after Budapest she was supposed to go to Krakow and then back to Mannheim. I would have liked to have Ignjaz, a good friend of mine, next to me who is a Kendo expert, anima fan and generally freak when it comes to Japanese culture. I know that Japan is very trendy at the moment, but I’m not anyhow attracted to it or to its culture. Not that I wouldn’t like to visit Japan, I’m just not so fascinated with it. I’m like drug Katjusha, a Russophile.
We were then talking about Mannheim that I had visited twice, about Budapest that I visited one half of a time, and about Krakow that I had never visited.
So were we talking when a bunch of Federation soldiers gathered in front of our compartment. At that time, military service was still compulsory in B&H, and on weekends trains were full of guys from the Croatian military branch travelling from Čapljina to distant, northern parts of Federation, to Orašje, Posavina County.
They were staring at my new friend, at me, perplexed as if they’d seen Holy Mary or something.
They were army as any other, thinking only of booze and women.
They were staring at us, being all bold and sweaty when on of them, leader maybe and maybe not said:
-“See this, guys, a Chinese and a film director!!”I’m quite okay with the fact that in ex-HVO they don’t issue manuals how to tell Japs from other Asians, but the film director???? I looked at my chest and saw my fancy SERIKSON pinned to that drkadžiluk from Sarajevo Film Festival, as I already mentioned. Exactly at that time SFF was indeed going on. Next to me, my gayish-youthful-formal bag was standing. Maybe I even had a cap on my head, I don’t remember, probably I did since many people already told me I looked like Michael Moore with that cap. Not really a compliment, I know.
I was trying to ignore that drunken squad; I was talking to my new friend when one of them, in the brightest military manner said:
-“I bet the director’s screwing the Chinese!”My new friend, naturally, asked:
-“What do they say?”I told her this was something impossible to translate and got up and opened the door and like someone with an utmost authority said:
-C’mon guys, disappear!”And they all exclaimed:
-“Holy fuck, the director can speak!”Do I really look like a foreigner???
Do I look like a stranger to you?
There is a picture of myself on the blog, and if you've regularly read my blog, you could have seen many of my pictures. So, do I then look like a stranger? Ok, I might not look like a Bosnian (Bosniacis Vulgaris), but a stranger?
Anyhow, I decided to describe one story that I'd already promised to write about. Now that the summer heat is at its peak and there are no many novelties in my life, it's the ideal opportunity to finally do so.
The story begins in late August in the year of the Lord 2005. My volunteering summer in Sarajevo has just ended and I'm going back home for a few days and then back to the University.
I'm entering Sarajevo Railway Station, wearing gigantic red backpack (onetime Jimbo-treveler trademark) and a sort of gayish-youthful-formal bag is dangling on my shoulder. I'm still holding a cigarette butt in my mouth, wearing my, at that time still long, hair in a pony tale and greasy glasses (an actual trademark of Jimbo Vulgaris). Hanging on my neck there is also my former fancy SERIKSON pinned with the Sarajevo Film Festival drkadžulik (drkadžulik is that pendant one wears around one's neck).
I'm approaching the window and the lady there gazed at my tall-handsome-blond physiognomy, just as I really am.
-“Good evening. Ticket to Vrpolje please....errr...Strizivojna-Vrpolje sation.”The lady gave me somehow confused look:
-“So you are not a foreigner?”Now I give her a somehow confused look and said:
-“In fact, I am a foreigner.”
The lady from the window, now even more confused, said:
-“Well, I have to say that you are very good in Bosnian.”The funny thing was that exactly at that time I was struggling to pass the Bosnian language exam, so I just said with a smile:
-“Well, I really try hard, but with little success.”
-“No, no…you do great, you have this specific accent, but again, I’d never say you’re not Bosnian…according to your accent, of course.”
I didn’t know what this “according to the accent” was supposed to mean, I guess that it was more than obvious that I’m not Bosnian. As for the accent, that’s my idiosyncratic dialect that could be named Jimboz Unique which is the hodgepodge of Slavonic (from Slavonija, eastern part of Croatia), brodski (from Slavonski Bord, city in Slavonija) to be precise, Sarajevo slang, and central Bosnian dialect.
That’s why when I come to Brod they mock me that I speak like Edo Maajka while in Sarajevo they laugh at my Slavonic “stretching”. In the end, it’s only me being happy with how I speak.
Anyhow, I bought the ticket, took another cigarette from my Drina pack, turned around and saw a young lady with a sobbing face standing in front of me. The tears were gushing from her slanting, and beautiful I have to say, eyes. It was a real Japanese girl. Japanese, as she had that very moment flown from Yokohama.
You probably wonder how I can distinguish Japanese from, say, Korean, Chinese, Vietnamese or some other Asian. Well, not long before that encounter, I found a military manual on the Internet that had been given to Americans when going to the Pacific battlefield and, if I remember well, it was called "How to tell Jap from our asian allies". A picture-book too crazy, but, it apparently helped me.
So I gave her the confused look, she looked at me through tears, I gave her a smile and continued my way. After only a few steps I heard how she, with a sobbing voice, tried to talk to that lady behind the window who didn’t pay a slightest attention to her. I stopped, took a deep breath and turned. Just to make it clear, I’m not some altruist acting like a Mother Teresa but, fuck, woman’s tears are my weak spot.
I reached the window and asked:
-“Off to Budapest?”She gave me a confused look with her eyes full of tears and nodded.
-“Please, a ticket to Budapest for a girl.”
-“One way or return?”-said the lady behind the window and I turned to my new friend:
-“One way?”- to which she just nodded again.
-“One way”.
-“82,50”-or some similar amount said the lady and I translated it to the girl.
My new friend gave me 100 marks, I gave them to the lady and then gave her back her kusur (change) and the ticket. She was still confused as I was leaving.
I made but few steps when I got that my little Asian friend had been following me like a lost poppy that I had just fed. So I waited for her.
She finally spoke: -“Do you go to Budapest?”As much as I wanted to go to Budapest, I had a yen for Slavonia at that moment.
-“No, Croatia.”
-“Croatia?”
-“Yeah, Croatia…small country for a big vacation.”
I’ve got no clue why I said that. The tears were still gushing from her eyes and I thought that I must have had some tissues somewhere in my backpack. So I stopped, took of my backpack and somewhere under the cigarette box I found tissues.
-“Here you go.”
-“Oh, thank you…”-she said and wiped off the tears.
Then I took her to the shop and bought two bottles of half-litre Jana. My new friend was looking and asked me to buy one for her too. So I bought one for her to which she started digging into her wallet while I simply waved and said:
-“It’s on me”-I might not be an altruist but I’m a gentleman.
She was surprised with what I’d just done, even though I have no clue why.We sat together in a compartment and then she began talking. From her story I found out why she was so surprised with my behaviour; that is, the guilty ones for her tears were, tan-tan ta-raaaaan!!-GRAS officers. The girl bought the ticket for the trolleybus but, of course, she didn’t know that she had to confirm it inside so she immediately found herself under attack of bunch of blue rebels called revizori. I do admit that they really are bastards sometimes. However, I explained her that she had only needed to send them to hell and they would have run away like rats when they escape from the sinking boat. Anyhow, in spite of so many times mentioned Sarajevo hospitality, she had to come across Šokac to get some help. I mean, it’s not that I’m blowing my own trumpet, but…
So we were sitting in that compartment, talking about everything. I got to know she was from Japan (surprise, surprise), that she studied German and English in Mannheim and that she was travelling around Europe (why on earth alone…). She’d already been to Turkey, then in Dubrovnik, Sarajevo and then she was heading to Budapest. As far as I remember, after Budapest she was supposed to go to Krakow and then back to Mannheim. I would have liked to have Ignjaz, a good friend of mine, next to me who is a Kendo expert, anima fan and generally freak when it comes to Japanese culture. I know that Japan is very trendy at the moment, but I’m not anyhow attracted to it or to its culture. Not that I wouldn’t like to visit Japan, I’m just not so fascinated with it. I’m like drug Katjusha, a Russophile.
We were then talking about Mannheim that I had visited twice, about Budapest that I visited one half of a time, and about Krakow that I had never visited.
So were we talking when a bunch of Federation soldiers gathered in front of our compartment. At that time, military service was still compulsory in B&H, and on weekends trains were full of guys from the Croatian military branch travelling from Čapljina to distant, northern parts of Federation, to Orašje, Posavina County.
They were staring at my new friend, at me, perplexed as if they’d seen Holy Mary or something.
They were army as any other, thinking only of booze and women.
They were staring at us, being all bold and sweaty when on of them, leader maybe and maybe not said:
-“See this, guys, a Chinese and a film director!!”I’m quite okay with the fact that in ex-HVO they don’t issue manuals how to tell Japs from other Asians, but the film director???? I looked at my chest and saw my fancy SERIKSON pinned to that drkadžiluk from Sarajevo Film Festival, as I already mentioned. Exactly at that time SFF was indeed going on. Next to me, my gayish-youthful-formal bag was standing. Maybe I even had a cap on my head, I don’t remember, probably I did since many people already told me I looked like Michael Moore with that cap. Not really a compliment, I know.
I was trying to ignore that drunken squad; I was talking to my new friend when one of them, in the brightest military manner said:
-“I bet the director’s screwing the Chinese!”My new friend, naturally, asked:
-“What do they say?”I told her this was something impossible to translate and got up and opened the door and like someone with an utmost authority said:
-C’mon guys, disappear!”And they all exclaimed:
-“Holy fuck, the director can speak!”Do I really look like a foreigner???
Edo Maajka - prominent Croato-Bosnian rapper
Drina - Bosnian cigarette brand, also a river in eastern part of the country
Jana - Croatian bottled water brand
GRAS - public transport Sarajevo
Šokac - inhabitant of Slavonia
HVO - Croatian Council of Defense, former Croat army in Bosnia and Herzegovina
First time published at Jimblog under the title "Fujoshi", on 25th of July, 2007 AD
Thanks to Ana Sekulić for translation
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