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Cultural Ambience

Budapest, like many other European cities, has loads of cultural activities to offer. I have only recently taken advantage of these opportunities. There are dozens of free museums, cinemas, galleries, and of the like. This past weekend was the fourth Verzio International Film Festival in Budapest, which showcased quite a few interesting flicks. Although I had ten lined up on my "to watch" list, I only made it to four.

The first film I attended was Between the Lines: India's Third Gender, about Hijras within Indian society. Hijras, a growing third gender, are previously men who get castrated to become this gender. What is unique about this particular gender is that they self-identify not as women or men, but simply as Hijras and are known for spiritual blessings or curses. Within Indian society, these individuals appear to be not only discriminated by somewhat accepted at the same time. Many of those within the film interviewed appeared to live very poverty-stricken lives, begging for money on a constant basis, selling their bodies to men for money, or dancing in clubs. Walking through the streets of Mumbai, it appeared the Hijras attracted stares of not only difference, but of disbelief and disgust. Despite these types of non-acceptance by the Indian society, they are heavily relied on--both for their supernatural powers and their bodies as objects for men--within Indian society. The film captures this sub-culture within India and reveal both the pains and joys of a minority class.

Two out of the three other films are worth mentioning. One of which is Exile Family Movie, a story of exiled Iranians throughout the globe. The film takes us through Arash T. Riahi's personal history of his own family, both nuclear and extended, who have either left Iran for political reasons or remained within the suppressive regime. The film begins in 1994 in Vien, Austria, where his nuclear family resides. Images and clips depict the pain his family members face as they are torn apart by politics, displaced across the globe, and separated by cultures. It has been years since the family has been together until they decide to meet in Mecca, in Saudi Arabia. Arash takes us through a personal journey filled with cultural differences, family connections, sorrow and ecstasy. This film encapsulates not only a personal journey, but reflects the notions of political subordination, determination, understanding, and most importantly love.

In Africa, the Democratic Republic of Congo, plagued by war, famine, disease witnesses the rise in Evangelical Christianity. Many of the Congolese are inflicted by deep poverty, AIDs, unimaginable hardships, looking for a way out of this life. Thanks to a handful pastors who claim they are God's messengers, preaching what the poor Congolese wish to hear, are not only creating a sense of false belief, but also a rise within their own bank accounts. The sad reality remains in the continuity of this practice, where individuals infected by AIDs and other detriments truly believe that through the prayers of these prophets to God, their ailing will heal. The film concludes with a very powerful scene, as one Congolese women lies frail and ill, flies circling her body, perhaps infected by cancer or AIDs, repeating that God will save her from her condition.

The wonders of international film festivals, such as these, is that it allows one to visualize the varying cultures, struggles, issues throughout the world. Simply reading a newspaper or an online article is indeed informational, but with this visualization, one is able to conceptualize the realities of the conditions of individuals. Taking a peek, even if only a minute one, into the lives of these people, we can move beyond the vague understanding we might initially possess.

two months

86,400 minutes, 1440 hours, 60 days, two months. Sitting at my laptop at 11:37 AM, it has hit me that two long months have passed since my arrival here in Budapest. In thinking of this time period past, too many things emerge within my thoughts--the first initial feeling of the city, my integration, my friendships, my travels. Outside of these thoughts, the one thing which tends to emerge from time to time is the fact of familiarity.

I wake up to the sun shining through the square windows each morning. I walk down Kiniszi Utca to either the Kinai Bufe or the burger joint for lunch or dinner. I stride over to the university where three big buildings stand--the main building, the sohaz building, the new building. I attend class each day, and see the same people within these classes. The topic changes of course, but when one simply observes this schedule without sound, its like looking at a set of the same pictures. I've become accustomed to my schedule, and have no problems. The people I have met are amazing.

My weekends consist of socializing, either at someone's flat, or at a local pub. I have grown attached to specifically three pubs--Szimpla, Klub Vittul, and Kuplung. They are all dive type bars, really Bohemian type environments with old stone walls surrounding the main area, grafitti on the walls, obscure designs floating around.

I have become used to the pace here. It is much slower in comparison to most cities of the States. Although the drivers on the road are absolutely mad, there still exists this sense of relaxation. I walk down the various Utca's of Budapest and even with this cold weather, people are sitting under the umbrella's covering the tables and sipping on their coffee or tea, intimately discussing something.

I have become familiar with the political situation here, somewhat. Weeks ago, there was the riots/protests against the government which tends to embody socialist ideas. Speaking to a local Hungarian man on the street, he mentioned the corruption of the government, the lack of even distribution amongst the citizens, and the vicscious cycle of poverty with no institutional aid. The man reiterated variuos times, "It hurts my soul to see this in my country."

Budapest is not simply the picturesque setting one sees upon arrival. It is not only the beautiful Danube with marvelous bridges lingering above. It is not only the fancy tourist streets such as Vaci Utca or Raday Utca. It is not only what lonely planet speaks of Budapest. Budapest has become a city with personal connections for me. Within only two months, I have grown attached to the life here. I am not saying that I'll drop everything and move here, or stay here rather, but to really understand what the city is about and feel part of it is a great thing.

About 86,400 minutes, 1440 hours, 60 days, two months remain.

The Balkans

Commemorating Magyarorszag's (Hungary) national holiday, all services were put to a halt. With a long weekend, I planned on heading down south to the former Yugoslavia, the Balkans. The night of the eighteenth, Thursday, Kevin, Bianca, and I met at Keleti palyaudvar (train station) to catch our train to Belgrade, Serbia--our first destination. The remains of the former Yugoslavia is now Serbia. Prior to the 1990's Yugoslavia's territory extended to what is now Macedonia, Bosnia, Croatia, Slovenia, and Montenegro. Kosovo, an autonomous region during that time still, remains under Serbian control.



After six hours or so, we arrived in Belgrade. My first thoughts of the Balkans was that the effects of war still remained--destroyed buildings, underdeveloped, decrepit. As we walked all throughout the city for hours upon hours, there were some areas which showned such signs, where other areas have been covered up with development. In one of the main streets of the city, two buildings lie side by side completely destroyed. Perhaps it was due to the bombs dropped by NATO during the 90s, perhaps just a decayed building. As the seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, the three of us remained wandering throughout this grey city. Several stops to the Museum of Ethnography and to the old Fort on a hill, viewing a breathtaking scene, we eventually headed back towards the bus station to catch a ten o'clock pm bus to Pristina, Kosovo--the most anticipated destination for me.



During middle school in the late 1990s, there were several students from Kosovo who arrived to our school. Their families were displaced due to the war between Kosovo and Serbia. At the time, what I knew of Kosovo was just some point on the map where there was conflict. The U.S., under Clinton, assisted Kosovo in defending themselves against Serbia and Milosevic. Never in my life did I actually think I would visit this site. Sitting on the bus was somewhat overwhelming for me, yet exciting. My seat was somewhere near the back, close to the last row. As I observed my surroundings, I somewhat laughed in my head. It was as if I was situated in some scene in a movie, or a made up scenario within one's mind. All around me were Kosovar Albanians, either trying to sleeping, or fully awake. Stares of interest pointed my way as I sat there, in silence, listening to the high pitched Madonna type Albanian singer through the intercom.

We made a quick stop in the middle of nowhere it seemed. Standing there in the pitch black, it triggered the memories of my travels in Vietnam just last year. During those grueling bus rides from South to North, countless pit-stops to a restaurant deserted by civilization. As I stood there, trying to look into the distance--fogged by the darkness--an old, black Mercedes-Benz came screetching into the graveled parking lot. Four young Kosovar Albanians exited the vehicle, like a scene from some gangster movie, only to greet me with warmth, exhalting "Welcome to the State of Kosovo!" An exchange of smiles and handshakes between us was all the interaction.



From my knowledge most fighting took place within this region during the Kosovo War. Like Belgrade, I expected a dilapidated, rundown city in Pristina. The city itself is the largest city in Kosovo with close to 500,00 inhabitants. The cold, drizzling rain greeted the three of us as we walked through the gates at four in the morning. Ten seconds later, with no actual place to go, we turned back around and slept in the bus station until about nine. My expectations were met as the sights of the buildings, cityscape, and other surroundings appeared to be those similar to a third world country. The visibility of an undeveloped location points to the realities of the region today. Stricken with racial/ethnic tension, political corruption, social and economic decay, underdeveloped is an understatement.

My plan for this trip was to speak to some locals of the area, to see what everyday life was like. Although many people do speak English here in Pristina, and in most other parts of Kosovo, they seem to keep the personal, the current political and social problems to themselves when dealing with foreigners--the very few who visit the region. With our travels to the Balkans, we really were not interested in the typical "see all the tourist spots", but rather, walk around as the locals do, shop at the market, sit at a coffee shop, and observe and take in what life in this region of tension is like.



We met one man, whose name now escapes me, who has returned to the city of his birth after twenty-five years. He moved to British Columbia a quarter decade ago due to unknown reasons. His story is an interesting one for me, mainly because it reminds me of the so many diasporic groups of Vietnamese in places like the U.S., France, Austrailia. I came into Kosovo with a very limited view on the atmosphere, the culture. I knew few foreigners came to visit; those who reside are NGO workers. This particular individual dived into the topics which I was most interested. He spoke of the ethnic tensions between the Serbs, the Kosovar Albanians, the Roma. His best friend during his days in Kosovo lives in a region where such ethnic tension is blatantly visible; he advises him not to come to this part of Pristina because death might ensue. He also highlighted the lack of any economic development. The rate of unemployment soars beyond the clouds. With no job, no income, people simply cannot move upward. The political group is apparently renown for its corruption. The money goes into who's pocket? The people or the elites? These tend to be the ongoing problems within Kosovo today.

As we departed ways, I gained a somewhat better understanding of the present social, economic and political situation in Kosovo. Looking around this dreary city kind of validified this man's words. Poverty and unemployment seemed to be an issue, and clearly through mass media, the ethnic tensions are obvious. As we moved on, touring the city by foot, we arrived to a few interesting places, one of which was an open air market. Compared to the markets of Budapest, this would be considered primitive. The products were obviously knockoffs--tons of clothes which resembled the knockoffs in South-East Asia, bootleg CDs and DVDs. I really enjoy these types of markets mainly because it is very local and possesses a cultural feel to it. Yet at the same time, I cannot be blinded by my own personal enjoyment as the ones selling are working hard for every cent. Many of these vendors were extremely friendly to us--inquiring our roots and nationality and what we were doing here--some of which asked us to take their picture.



As the market faded into the distance, we came across a building which was quite distinct from all other buildings erected. Glass, reflective windows, perhaps ten to twenty stories high, and gated with security. Kosovo has been U.N. adminstered since the late 1990s, and I was standing right in front of this global governance organization's building. On the gates of the U.N. building read a large sign in red text, "We Are All Missing Them", referring to those who lost their lives in dark times of war just one decade ago. The faces of individuals who I only know through images hang on the fence. Faded by time, some photos are nearly unrecognizable. As I stood there for awhile, examining these images, I sense the pain and the sympathy for these people, for their familes. The sad reality of war.



As our journey continued through the winding, narrow roads of Pristina, I observed the lack of investment, the lack of commitment in development of this city. Throughout the entire metropolis, many buildings tower, half finished, appearing to be a forgotten project. Development of edifices tends not to develop the society or economy. With this constant visibility of constructions, I began to think that development planning is heading in the wrong direction in Kosovo. Structures do not bring income, do not bring jobs, do not develop much when they are unfinished, and more importantly do not contribute to the human development. From my travels thus far, Kosovo appears to be one of the poorest regions within Europe. The 2 Euro meal for the three of us gives evidence of the feeble economy. I really do not know what is being done in this State in terms of development, but even under U.N. administering, there seems not to be much upward movement.



Wandering for a few more hours, we eventually decided to head back to the bus station to catch our train to Sarajevo, Bosnia. As we walked in the general direction, we were somewhat lost. I asked a women for directions to the bus station, and luckily for us she was heading there as well. I took this opportunity to ask her more about Pristina, and Kosovo in general. She mentioned her sadness and demoralization when it came to the present and future of Kosovo. The post-war period has brought an end to the manifest oppresion by Serbia, but what remains are countless issues which are unresolved. She works for a bank, which gave her the opporunity to train in two other European countries. What really amazed her were how developed these other countries are; Switzerland and Austria respectively. The comparsions she drew between Kosovo and these states, which I view as incomprable, tend to be a widespread view amongst those residing here. When a Kosovar Albanian watches Western films and witnesses this highly developed, technologized society, how can they not compare? Their reality is a harsh, cruel, scrapping environment. As this woman said to me, "It will be years before Kosovo reaches such a stage."



I wished I had more time in Kosovo, perhaps to see a different city, to speak to some NGOs, to understand the locality, but unfortunately, time did not permit. We jumped onto another night bus, which would bring us to Sarajevo, Bosnia--another destination rich in history.

Bosnia, like Kosovo, faced war in the early to mid 1990s. Conflicts between Bosniaks, Croats, and Serbs plagued the country for three years, where genocide was a reality--mass rapings, ethnic cleansing, resulting in over 100,000 deaths. Apparently, there are still many landmines up in the mountains. Arriving in Sarajevo and seeing the views of the city, there is much contrast between the war-torn Kosovo. The infrastructure of this city appeared to be much more developed--physically and economically. The individuals living here, through mere observations differed greatly in their everyday life than that of the Kosovar Albanians. Well-dressed, high-class dining, frequenting fancy coffee shops, the Bosniaks seem not to face the same struggles as their neighbors westward. Of course, with every society, there are social, economic and political problems, but when comparing one country within the Balkans to another, the association is justifiable.



Tired from walking around the previous day, we checked into a hostel. Dropping off our goods, we decided to explore our surroundings. The city itself is really beautiful, especially the old town part. Walking through these brick roads, I felt as if I were passing through a 19th century city. The constructions still resemble such a time period, as do the businesses and everyday life of these individuals--the aura captivated such an impression. We simply walked, drank coffee, climbed up and down hills, examining the architecture, landscape and people. One of the very interesting things about Sarajevo was the diversity of religion. Predominantly Muslim, there are also synagogues and churches established. The strange coexistence of these conflicting religions in Sarajevo intrigued me greatly. Within other parts of the world, such a coexistence is impossible--especially in what is present day Israel. One can witness such coexistence in parts of the U.S., but the difference here is that within such a small proximity, the contact between these various religions is to a greater extent. There appeared to be no religious conflict as individuals went on with their everday life, interacting with one another.



Kevin and I ate at a Gyros plate, each purchasing a Cevati sandwich, a typical Bosnian dish--Bianca sat salvating, refusing to eat. Following our meal, the three of us had a drink at Guiness Pub, where American football illuminated the widescreen television--Detroit Lions versus Tampa Bay Bucs. American culture has even reached the depths of the Balkans it seems. Fatigued by lack of sleep, and constant travel on night buses, we entered complete comfort in our warm, homely hostel room. The minute I rested my head onto the pillow, I feel into a deep slumber.

As the sun rose and the three of us headed towards the train station, our Balkans tour had come to an end. On the train, we ran into Harry and Joe, two other Corvinus exchange students. After twelve hours, we arrived back in Budapest, starving due to lack of food. We all headed to Kinai Bufe (Chinese fast food restaurant) for a delicious dinner, where we discussed the sights and sounds we had just witnessed.

Trần, Qúy-Hạc