One to make the parents cry...

I woke up this morning remembering a story told to me by a Novi Sad friend.

It´s about his grandmother, who was very small when this happened. It is pieced together from her own memory and her mother´s retelling of it.

A woman and her children are parted from the man of their house. It is during the war (which one?) and Hungarian soldiers are being slightly less than wonderful.

This is not a political story though, so we will let the facts state simply that the man of the house was sent to an encampment... a prison really.... and the woman and her children were left to face the world alone.

What is a woman to do with no income, in fear for her quite obviously Serbian children, and with the constant terror of her husband dying in the camp: disease, starvation, a bullet. It´s all the same result isn´t it?

She picks up whatever she can and walks with them to the border. She is fortunate - she speaks a little Hungarian and can ´pass´ as one of their own. Her little ones are told, quite literally on pain of death, not to speak. Their cover as pseudo-Hungarians will be blown for sure if these little guys say anything.

They make it, after a few frightening moments.

Months later, they are in pretty desperate circumstances.

They live in a single room. An empty room. There is no furniture, no heating, no food. The woman has had word through the grapevine that her husband is alive and will soon be released. She waits for him in the street. Every day. It is a long walk for a half-starved man from a prison camp. There´s no schedule for that sort of thing.

One afternoon, she finally sees him. He approaches and they stand facing eachother, simply looking into eachother´s eyes. She is ashamed you see, that he is coming ´home´ to an empty room with nothing to feed him with. Nothing to greet him with but hungry children. She wants to warn him before the little ones see him again.

She breaks the silence with tears. He takes her in his arms and gives her comfort while she cries "We have nothing, we have nothing."

Together they climb the stairs and walk into the room. The little ones look up at him and watch, dumbfounded as he falls to the floor. It is his turn to cry now... and his wife feels her shame more deeply.

He turns to her, and she thinks he will chastise her for their meagre conditions. But this is not the case. He has seen all of his babies, and the woman who bore them, in one room, alive. Finally he speaks through his tears: "We have everything. Everything."

Please excuse my insensitivity....

.... But am I the only one who thinks this is funny?



There's something about an Aussie summer, some plastics chairs in the hands of Balkanites and the breathless American hyperbole that makes me laugh.

It's not cool, I get that... But 'riots'? Please.

When in Serbia, stop thinking of distance in Australian terms

In Australia, everything is far away. To visit a national park, its a days drive at least. People die out there. You need to be prepared.

Serbia is smaller.... But sometimes I forget.

I have been in Novi Sad for weeks... months probably, if you add up the total time.

There is a place called Fruska Gora National Park near here... Beautiful mountains, monasteries, the real deal. I have been meaning to visit it for ages.

Because we are lazy tourists, it has been put in the 'Too Hard' basket for a while now. Do we catch a bus, a train, hitchhike? Do we need to organise a room, or buy a tent? I want to hike, but I'm an amateur... Are there rescue options - believe me, I am the kind of person who would get ridiculously lost and need St Bernards sent in to find me and get me liquored up for the Long Haul Home.

I finally got off my butt and made some enquiries today.

'How far is Fruska Gora from Novi Sad' ?

"It takes me about 40 minutes on my bike."

'A motorbike'?

"No. Bicycle. If you just want to camp, walk over the bridge and take the path. It's a nice stroll."

Oh.

We're going camping now. See you in half an hour.