The Balkans: Lands of Honey & Blood

Northwest Ruminations has been silent not for lack of rumination but to edit photos and produce our latest trip book, The Balkans: Lands of Honey & Blood. (In addition to four-days, eight hours a day, learning from a Hawaiian master to carve stone pendants and weave Polynesian-style cords and lashings for them; plus fishing far off the web in northern British Columbia for a week; plus working as Pratt's board president on our retreat, reflections and re-direction.  To boot, I am drafting this en-route to and from Piedmont for grandson Peter Waller’s wonderful wedding to Mary Garner, a perfect Roo to Peter’s Eeyore. The Dr.s Mary and Peter are newly minted PhDs from Cal Berkeley.)

But about the Balkans: bal in Turkish means honey; kans, blood: an apt metaphor for these lands of the South Slavs where West has conflicted with East for 1,500 years. These verdant, beautiful lands. These fraught and violent lands. The first European war of the bloody 20thC took place here; the last European war of the 20thC took place here along with medieval massacres and cruelties. The first European war of the 21stC, God forbid? It could likely start here.

These handsome, lovely people, so hospitable and gracious to us — each of their three religions teach to welcome the stranger — but they so distrust and detest their neighbors.  Croat, Montenegrin, Albanian, Bosniak, Kosovar, Serb, Slovene, Macedonian — one's ethno-religious background labels you no matter what passport you carry, no matter how secular or religious you are. After the “Yugoslav Civil War” as Serbs call it, “The Homeland Wars” to Croats and Bosniaks, these countries now have self-segregated, becoming more and more homogeneous and rigidly jingoistic. One Dalmatian Croat living close to “our enemy”, i.e., Montenegro, growled in explanation to me “Today, neighbor; never friend.” I asked a young, educated, secular Croat “is there a Balkan Desmond Tutu; what religious leaders are working on reconciliation?” “None,” he answered, “they are all preaching superiority and separation.”

Holbrook’s West-imposed Dayton accords ended the fighting but at a price of establishing an unstable structure of shared power that emasculates governance and totally blocks economic re-development. Every former Yugoslav country has lost population since 1999 — a debilitating brain drain. Bosnia is especially ungovernable, with everyone hankering back to days of Tito.  A Sarajevo actress told us she is longing for “the right strong man” to come along and sweep all this away.  Milorad Dodik, leader of the federated Republika Srpska, a Dayton-creation, last month announced formation of an independent Srpska militia and his desire (with Putin egging him on) to secede from Bosnia and be annexed by Serbia. Last year, Oliver Ivanovo, Deputy State Minister of Kosovo, was killed in a drive-by assassination, just another in a long string — one might say “as Balkan as assassination.” The Serbian prime minister last month charged Kosovo and Albania with plotting to unite. 

Here in these former Yugoslavian countries, for all the world to see, is identity politics taken to its logical/illogical extreme with a strong undertow of violence mixed in.  Yearning, vulnerable, anxious people surrounded by rising retro-autocrats, populist nationalists like Orban of Hungary, Salvini of Italy, Hofer of Austria, Erdogan of Turkey., LePen of France: the Balkans are kindling awaiting a match.

This OAT* trip revealed to me how little I knew of this amazing, confounding history. (Churchill quipped “the Balkans produce more history than they can consume.”) Also, I have learned to revere Rebecca West; her Black Lamb, Grey Falcon (1940), the most marvelous travelogue/history/incisive commentary I have ever read, all 1200 pages of it.

Do not let me dissuade you. Go explore the Balkans. Enjoy sun in the Dalmatian islands. Wonder at Roman emperor Diocletian’s retirement Palace in Split, at the mountains of Montenegro, at the Ottoman bridge of Mostar, at the caves of Postojna and more — and learn. Learn how little we know of this 1500 year conflict zone between east and west and how it colors our times. Learn what lack of diversity can yield in paranoiac chauvinism. Learn what ancient injury can do to scar national psyche if not healed with vision and leadership and education. And learn to be a stranger on the receiving end of warm, eager and welcoming hospitality.

We on the upper wall around the old town of
Dubrovnik, Croatia

Motovun, in the Istrian region of Croatia

Hunting truffles with an Istrian
hunter and her trained sniffer-dog

Karanac (kah-RAHN-ass), Croatia: making new cheese
 for tomorrow's breakfast

In the Gulf of Kotor in Montenegro

Lake Bled, Slovenia

Early morning along the esplanade in
Ljubljana, Slovenia

Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina: the original 16thC Ottoman
bridge destroyed by Croat insurgents in the war, 1993, and
re-built in 2003-'04  

One of the many caverns in Postonja Caves.
(Note the walkway for scale.)

A "Sarajevo Rose": several hundred mortar shell
holes where at least three persons were killed during the three-year siege are memorialized
with red resin fillings. 

Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina: a display in the
Srebrenica Exhibit of mass graves created by Serb and Croat
 militias and the Yugoslav army during the Bosnian War, 1992- '95

Split: an early-morning fashion
shoot in one of the plazas of
Diocletian's retirement palace.

Split, Croatia: Mestrovic's statue of Bishop Gregory
of Nin, who performed the mass in Serbo-Croation
and was banished for his transgression --
500 years before Luther! 

Zagreb, Croatia: Cardinal Stepanic.  Saint or War Criminal?

The Austro-Hungarian skyline of old Zagreb

And that BC fishing trip?  An insufferably satisfied
Roger W, a fishing pal who consistently out-fishes me,
with a nice kamloops rainbow.

*OAT: Overseas Adventure Travel, of Boston. Ann and I went to Croatia on our own, then joined an OAT group in Dubrovnik. We were very pleased with their staff, their planning and also their flexibility to seize opportunities, with their attention to detail, with their local guides and opportunities to mix and dine with locals in their homes. And with our compatible and interested fellow travelers, several of whom are repeat OAT loyalists. We’d recommend OAT.

A Few Words About An Under-appreciated Man

It's been ten weeks since last posting thoughts.  A result of fraught times, personal and public, plus three weeks exploring the Balkans.  I will blog about that remarkable trip as soon as I finish editing some 1600 photos -- no, I won't include all of them.

In the meantime, I'd like to comment on Jay Inslee whose candidacy for President is gaining yawns at best, dismissals as "light-weight" at worst.  I think he deserves more attention and respect, so I rise to his defense, and ask you to listen carefully during the debates.

Inslee was raised in Seattle, worked his way through UW and Willamete, BA in Econ and a JD, set up and practiced law in a rural Washington town.  So he knows and relates to both the urban and the rural sides of the Cascades.  Earning trust of small town and rural neighbors, became a prosecutor, elected to Washington State legislature, then to Congress.

Returned to West side of Cascades and from an urban district, was again elected to US Congress.  Resigned to successively run for Governor, and has been a progressive one:

• environmental protection initiatives for Orcas, clean energy subsidies and incentives
• expansion of health care to 900,000 Washingtonians
• executive pardon program for marijuana possession felons
• executive suspension of use of death penalty
• free college tuition for families under median state income with dedicated funding, endorsed by industry
• State Dream Act, allowing undocumented dreamers access to state colleges and financial aid
• Grants for Apprentice programs in 11 under-served communities, enrolling 29,000 youngsters
• Increased state estate tax
• Supported and enacted purchase constraints on assault weapons

Courage? Toughness?

• Inslee was an adamant and outspoken opponent of Iraq War
• Sponsor of bill for impeachment inquiry into Atty, General Gonzales
• Told Pres. Trump to his face, in the oval office, that "you should Tweet less, listen more."
• Was first to sue against Trump's Muslim Ban

He has chaired the Democratic Governor's Council during the time Democrats increased the number of state houses held.

Prosecutor, Legislator, Governor, Political Pro, trusted by urban and rural constituents -- and a thoroughly down to earth, decent man of common sense and progressive ideas.  What's not to like? What's not to like, Iowans?

Loss

Last Wednesday morning at Johns Hopkins, two specialist surgeons, an anesthesiologist and their OR team shockingly lost a patient: Carol Youmans, debilitated by the tumor eating at her, had not the strength to respond to their frantic attempts to resuscitate and bring her through.  They were, I am sure, stunned by their failure. The rest of us, stunned by a Big Bang of loss.

The citizens of Annapolis (more than the transient bedroom-community residents, legislative part-timers, yachting weekenders) lost a fellow-citizen; a friendly acquaintance; a caring, engaged member of the community; that helpful gal who ran the print shop for years; who had a smile and kind word for everyone.

Friends and fellow plein air painters at Vermont’s Greater Barton Arts Center lost a co-founder and painting coach.  The Colonial Players of Annapolis lost a gifted actor, director, producer, a loyal collaborator who worked ceaselessly over the last 40 seasons of success.  Her passion was theatre; her web handle: “theatreslave.”

Long-time friends, classmates, travel companions up and down the East Coast lost a dear soul who cared deeply, who was always ready to listen.  Empathy and love oozed from every pore.

Her brother lost a younger sister.  He the dutiful, responsible, serious first born; she five years junior, emotional, eager to please, wearing heart on sleeve.  She called him “dearheart” despite his incessant teasing in their childhood; despite now separated by a continent and seeing each other only infrequently. The statistics say I should have gone first.  So long as I am alive they, the younger women in my life, are OK, aren't they?  Her loss also a loss of that innocent assumption; stats are not lives.  The circle of seven cousins broken again; now we are five.

Adrien and Edward lost an older sister, one with whom they had grown very close, especially after Carol lost Jack and the three began to summer together there in Barton in heart of the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. Working together to bring a dream of a Barton Arts Community into reality. Adrien’s stunning loss came on her way north to be caregiver next week when Carol was expected home from Hopkins. 

And for son Will and his Lisa, for daughter Alice and her Paul and their families the greatest loss, the devastating loss of that reliable, nurturing presence, that loving mother/grandmother/great-grandmother. This unexpected, unbearable loss -- but the loss that must be borne.  Her love animated them; that love endures.

So, at an instant in time and space, a Wednesday morning in a Baltimore OR, a Big Bang of Loss exploded into a mini-Universe of losses shared out in greater or lesser degrees to hundreds of us.

So much loss. Too much lost.

Posting Little; Has The World Become Too Much?

The frequency of my posts to Northwest Ruminations has slowed; six so far this year but mainly innocuous stuff – a word game, a photo collection, a winter poem, an accolade to a tire company. “Why is that?” as Rachel Maddow might ask? Why do I find it hard to address consequential matters, personal or civic?

Am I jaded?  Perhaps I am grown old.  Actually, jaded and aged are connected for jaded is to have seen too much, to be over-exposed; emotions blunted by repetition, too much become too familiar.

And my world is becoming too much.  Of my six spheres of connection (i.e., self, mate, clan, tribe, world, and spirit) half are barely bearable.

1. My self is getting more tippy, though I still ski, crew, sculpt; am still curious and concerned.
2. My stable mate still centers my life.
3. My clan is a mixed bag of busy and well and unwell.  A sister will undergo major, scary surgery Wednesday in far-off Annapolis while I wrestle here at home with tribal discord.  I worry at what kind of world my grandchildren and great-grandchildren are about to encounter.
4. Our tribe is fraught, more fraught than since 1968.  The board over which I supposedly preside is in turmoil; I stand accused by one provocateur of the arrogance of unconscious white privilege and of being overtly prejudiced.  My community is soiled by homeless encampments but unwilling to pay the price of cleansing, healing and prevention.  My nation is polarized, and the center fails.  My party has come to believe that “progressive” means catering to popular delusions about free health care and free university educations, about the ease of taxing wealth, about abolishing private health insurance; promising that anyone wanting one could have a federal job; prating about abolishing the electoral college or re-packing the Supreme Court – promises from the left as empty and demagogic as those from the right made by He-who-shall-not-be-named.  I watch my tribe with “the enormous condescension” of a jaded dilettante. Thanks be for my friends, a healthy and steady source of sanity and support.
5. The greater world?  Already too, too much and becoming more so day by day: democratic republicanism under siege; crude nationalism on the rise; autocrats abounding; the EU coming undone.  An arms race looms.  Nukes proliferate. Climate promises catastrophe -- and delivers. Species go extinct. While we of the west dither. 

Perhaps that is why it’s been hard to blog, to confront provocative thought.  I must gird myself; I must un-jade.  As Berne’ Brown urges, I must begin to “dare greatly” in my little voice of Northwest Ruminations

      6. In the sixth sphere, the sphere of the spirit, I am at ease though increasingly fatalistic. Ven, que  sera; I am ready.

A Valentine to Discount Tire

Three times in the last decade or so, I asked Discount Tire, on Bel-Red Road in Bellevue, for advice on my tires.  The latest this morning before leaving Saturday for over the pass, over the Blue Mountains, up from Mountain Home into snowy Sun Valley.  Three times I have given them the opportunity to sell me $1,000 or so of rubber. 

Three times they have assured me all was OK. "You're good; drive safely."

No, it's they that are good -- straight shooters -- selling trust before rubber.  I'll never buy tires elsewhere. 

So Why All the Lying?

The columnists and TV commentators keep asking “why all the lying?” “They didn’t need to lie, or did they; what are they hiding?”

Take Flynn. The National Security Adviser-Designee: sure he would talk with foreigners; foreigners would seek him out.  Maybe imprudent, but a crime to talk? So, why the lie?

Or Manafort: already convicted, agreeing to cooperate with the Special Prosecutor, yet he continues to lie.  Why?

Well --

could conspiring with a foreign government to trade help for relief from sanctions,

or

could providing information to assist a foreign government to subvert our democracy –

could these be construed as Treason? 

And the penalty for Treason?  Ask the Rosenbergs. 

So, I’m just asking -- is that why all the lying from these creeps?

Seattle Snow Days

Three, four years since a real snow

for Seattle.

Now fourth day,

10 inches,

more on the way intones Mass.  He knows.

The thing is the silence;

the white noise of the highway stilled. 

Nothing moving,

no deer tracks mar the yard;

just the birds’ frenzy over suet and seed.

My restless mind resents being stilled,

so used to doing,

to gnawing on what next.

Fearful of empty? Maybe.

Slow to settle into the silence.

A walk in the woods with Ann;

wandering, wondering, seeing anew

in black and green

and white,

the deep, white silence of snow in Seattle.