02.27.12
Posted in General at 9:00 am by Kathleen Beccue
Some surprising things I wasn’t expecting about my first New York experience:
New Yorkers don’t seem particularly rude.
The city is really clean.
Pedestrians rule the sidewalks and roads.
Staying warm in winter means you don’t have to obey any fashion ‘rules’.
Hearing foreign languages you can’t identify is not unusual.
There is a huge variety of yummy foods available in every Mom and Pop convenience store.
The subways, buses and trains are relatively easy to navigate and plentiful.
Since there are so many people out walking at all hours of the day, it feels really safe to do the same.
The amount vertical living and working space is pretty astonishing.
There are the most adorable bomb-sniffing labradors working outside some hotels.
The abundance of architecture styles and eras in one square block doesn’t clash, moreover the light that plays off them through the course of the day is pretty stunning!
I do have pictures that I WILL teach myself to publish here!
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02.01.12
Posted in General at 5:20 am by Kathleen Beccue
I think I have lamented that the reason I can’t keep a blog about the strangeness of living overseas fresh and snappy is because the ‘strangeness’ becomes the new normal.
Well, I am going to try to turn over a new leaf. Write more often, write LESS content each time, learn how to add and occasional picture. Hopefully these ‘resolutions’ dawning on me on the 30th of January 2012 will help me be more in touch with readers. Though my long silence assures me that I no longer have any fans to disappoint.
We are about 1 week away from our return to Macedonia after an 11 month absence. It has been great to be back in the States. I’m shocked at how easily I re-assimilated and was sucking down diet sodas from disposable plastic cups easily larger than my head. Living large.
Now it is back to living small (ish) or just not living *as* American as I have been. It will be bittersweet. We know what we are returning to, so there is less panic, but also much less opportunity for that honeymoon phase. I think it will be harder.
Just got to pack up a few more boxes for storage, and take another look at what is going to make ‘the cut’ for luggage allowances. It’s a big job. It is my job.
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06.03.10
Posted in General at 11:38 am by Kathleen Beccue
The 94 honda we bought from some other expats here has a hole in the A/C, so we are ‘hating’ mother nature by not paying a king’s ransom to get a new system installed, but rather just getting the system recharged with freon. Usually lasts the duration of the summer, but as the hole gets bigger, I’m sure that won’t be the case. ANYWAY, I asked the former owners who their mechanic was because I hate going to my other mechanic and doing charades to explain what I want and then having them contradict me, tell me not to worry and then do whatever they feel like needs doing.
So I found my way to Stefan. He was pleased to meet me and spoke ‘leettle Angliski’ but still FAR and AWAY better than my Makedonski. He explained in great detail the situation with the a/c and said, “Eet weel take about half hour.” So, translating that to *sane* time estimates, I figured 3 hours. Armed with a book, it wasn’t a problem for me. Then Stefan called his mechanic and told him to come over and work on my car. He told me that normally there is an appointment system, but that he was letting me take cuts because, “you are new…new…uh….” “Customer?” I supplied. “Yes, thees… and you are woman.” “Thank you,” I responded.
A little while later an employee came in and chatted with Stefan and then Stefan turned to me, “You want sandwich? Very good sandwich? Very good.” Since I am hungry and figure I have at least 2 hour and 45 minutes to go I say yes and get my wallet out. Stefan holds up his hand to stop me and says, “No, no, what you do? You are guest. I pay.” So again I thank him and retreat back to my book. Moments later, the mechanic comes in and says my car is ready! Holy cow! He had it done in UNDER a half an hour. And now, here I am, hostage to a sandwich I’ve ordered! Then Stefan’s phone rings. He answers it and looks up at me and says, “Sandwich is finish. You want pizza?” I’m thinking, ‘If my sandwich is ready, why would I want pizza?’ so I say “No, thank you.” Suddenly it dawns on me: “finish” in this case means “out of”! Hooray! I’m off the hook and am able to pay for the car and depart with 2 hours to spare! God is good!
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Posted in General at 11:36 am by Kathleen Beccue
Sunday morning I got up early and hiked up to the cross on Vodno mountain. When I awoke at 5a.m. I heard a bus go by the house (the bus that takes me to the base of the mountain, how convenient is THAT?!), so I got up and puttered a bit and heard another bus go by at around 5:30. Well, that set a bit of a schedule in my head, so I started aiming for a 6a.m. bus. I decided that instead of packing my camp stove and espresso pot (and sugar and spoon and demitasse), I had time to toss back an espresso before I left. So while it was brewing I collected some biscuits, filled a water bottle, and got other essentials into my fanny pack. My espresso was ready at what felt like the last minute, so I decided to take it along and figured I could drink it while I waited for the bus.
As I exited the house, the street was pretty deserted, except for one lone taxi waiting at the taxi stand. It was Emri (whose name means ‘name’–guess his parents ran out of ideas, huh? Once I had a huge ‘who’s on first’ discussion about him with another Albanian “What’s his name?” “Name.” “Name?” “Yes.” “No, what is his name?” “Name.”). Anyway, it felt really stingy of me to greet him, then walk past him one block to await the bus, so I asked him if he would take me to the base of the mountain (it meant paying an extra $1.50, but in the name of relationship, you know…).
He was pretty confused by my attire: dirty tennis shoes, old jeans, a t-shirt, and two ancient bamboo ski poles (which are THE BEST for hiking and involving the upper body in the exercise) and a demitasse of espresso. Normally when I visit his household–his sister in law is one of my closer friends–I’m a little more dressed up. I don’t think I’ve ever worn jeans there, slacks but not jeans. I hope it doesn’t make me seem like a hypocrite to them! Anyway, he took me to the trail head and I didn’t have enough money to pay him the full fare, so he said, “Sister–don’t worry, don’t worry at all!” as I was assuring him that he would get his money.
It took me 1.5 hours to reach the top of the mountain. The earlier morning mountaineers that arrived ahead of me or that I passed on the trail were kind and congratulatory. It is such a neat “club” to belong to–cheery and supportive. There are several decently-marked trails up to the cross at the top of the mountain, and I am keen to learn them all. The one I ascended with this time was one I’ve been on before with only two stretches of ‘steep’ that make you want to reconsider this whole “hiking” thing. I took a totally new trail down. That is to say, one I thought was new to me, but it turns out it was one I has unsuccessfully used to ascend on my first try to climb up the mountain about 3 years ago. Its descent started out kind and undulating though a young forest, but then took a turn to crazy town and was like a 40% grade down gravel most of the rest of the way. I may has well have sat on my rear end and slid. The people coming up that trail were covered and sweat and could barely muster a smile much less a “Zdravo!” I thought I’d need knee replacement surgery once I reach the halfway point that levels out a bit. At the halfway point I ran into our star programmer, Srdjan (“surgeon”), who was up there for a cross country race. He is an avid marathoner. He and his wife were waiting for the race to begin so I wished him luck before I continued my way down.
Looking at the clock I realized it was a fantasy to make it back to the house for a shower before church, so I just headed straight to the service. I had a ball cap on over my greasy hair, and I like to pretend that I smelled of pine and forest as I sat there in my own stink. My jeans were muddy and grass stained, accented from drips of espresso from the cup I clipped to my belt once I was done–what a picture. We had a guest speaker who was okay, but determined to crank through his 12 point sermon (anyone heard of 3 POINT sermons?). I was starving and when things didn’t look to wind up very quickly, I began to plot my escape. But I was in the third row and the late families with strollers prevented my subtle egress. So I plastered a smile on my face, occasionally sniffing to see if I could detect exactly how bad my body odor was, and endured to the end. I’m sure I’ll get an extra jewel in my crown for that…so will the people sitting near me, no doubt! Heh.
Anyway, I got back to the house at 1pm. Popped over to the grocery store to get an essential or two and saw Emri back at the taxi stand, so I was able to make good on my debt. Walking 6:30am to 1pm–with a 1.5 hour church break–is a nice workout. I really want to make that a more regular part of my week. Right now I’m dying to get up there again and head a little across the mountain range because when I was there 2 weeks ago the wild strawberries were full of blossoms, now I’m pretty sure they will be full of berries. Nothing beats alpine berries! And really, this is the weather to do that sort of hiking in. It might even have slowed the berry production down such that they are WAITING for ME!!!
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04.28.10
Posted in General at 5:50 pm by Kathleen Beccue
I just got back from a quick two-day sightseeing trip to Belgrade. I managed to keep my expenses, including lodging and transportation AND entertainment to about 43 Euros a day!
One of my entertainment options was to visit the Belgrade Zoo. It was opened in 1936 and is one of the oldest zoos in Europe. I had heard positive things about it and was encouraged to check it out. Mind you, I live in Skopje, and there is a zoo here to which I have never been.
Why not visit your local zoo, you ask? It is because I am from San Diego. You know, San Diego, “Home-of-the-World-Famous-San-Diego-Zoo” San Diego? So I feel like I have had the best zoo experience possible, and all other experiences would simply pale in comparison–or be so pathetic and sad that I’d have to stage a midnight Animal Liberation Front assault to free the creatures from their prisons.
Belgrade’s Zoo is what I would call an ‘old world’ zoo. A type of zoo that harkens back to an era when the value of the public’s ability to see strange creatures not-from-around-here was at the top of the list versus the interest in the promotion and protection of species in a habitat closely resembling their own digs.
As a child, I remember having a book that depicted this ‘old world’ zoo concept I’m trying to get at: there were drawings of anthropomorphized lions and bears enjoying their 7 foot by 5 foot (!) cages while the industrious zoo-keeper visited and fed each one. I think the theme of the book was actually ‘pro-spider’ in so far as the misguided zoo-keeper cleaned out all the spider webs from the cages resulting in anthropomorphized lions and bears being depressed by the clouds of flies given free reign in the absence of natural predators. Maybe it was a book ahead of its time and not keeping with the old world zoo value of serving public voyeurism.
The Belgrade Zoo is a large collection–over 2,000 animals and because of it’s relatively small size and large population, reports are it has not been accepted into any international zoological associations. There are web-protests and exposés aplenty. But if that number includes the guinea pigs and turtles, then they can’t really be over-crowded! They’ve got LOADS of those and it really is hard to stage an animal rights protest over a turtle or guinea pig, IMHO.
When I entered, I was immediately assaulted by the sounds of dozens of species of birds–many of the pet-store varieties, some more rare tropical varieties; they also had birds of prey, herons, and an amazing number of pheasant and chicken-like birds with the most astonishing plumage.
Some of the larger enclosures (the politically correct term for ‘cage’ that I use so automatically) were simply encircled with large panes of impact-proof glass. It was gratifying to see workers busily cleaning the large glass plates and I didn’t smell the tell-tale odor of ammonia or see the bubbly streaks of chemical cleaners! These enclosures displayed wallabies, kangaroos, swans and some turtles–it was reminiscent of the San Diego Wild Animal Park’s practice of putting non-predatory animals of a region together, but on a smaller scale.
The giraffes and elephant were side-by-side in pens of a smallish size. and all around the perimeter there were dozens of other cages–these did tend toward the depressing side: Big concrete expanses, walled or barred in with no diversions whatsoever, holding bored horses, agitated bears, neurotic tigers. The monkey house was likewise sad and the population looked old and sickly. There were also some questionable selections in how they arranged some of the species in the smaller enclosures, e.g. the coyote pen overlooking the racoons, the bobcat mere feet from the goats. Seemed to just needlessly taunt the predator and stress-out the prey.
It is clear they don’t have the kind of funds they need to update this 74 year old treasure, which is a real shame. I hope that the citizens of Belgrade realize what they have and pour out support to improve the quality of life for the zoo residents. Protest is one thing, volunteerism is another–you hear me, Belgradians?
But having now leveled these criticisms of the Belgrade Zoo, I also have to say that I actually saw many species of animals up close! That was a first for me and I really enjoyed it. It was springtime, so there were darling babies-a-plenty (even 3 small progeny of the stressed-out bear mentioned earlier, so apparently he does sometimes ‘relax’), which very much added to the charm.
My experience at the San Diego Zoo and Wild Animal Park has often been so-so (except for the old bird show at the Animal Park that we just loved). The reason? Well, it costs $37 to start with and, then, good luck at seeing many of the 4,000 species they boast. Their animals are in AMAZING habitats. Their enclosures are expansive and filled with all sorts of lovely hidey-holes which the animals use with relish!
I remember as a child riding the Wild Animal Park Safari Tram out into the wilds of ‘Africa’ and ‘Asia’ and having the guide announcing things like, “Let me call your attention to those little gray-ish specks on the hillside. No not over there, over THERE. Those are the [insert Latin name here] and can be found in [insert geographical location here]. Oh! They are hard to see, and you can really appreciate how amazingly they are camouflaged, but look REALLY carefully about 10 feet up from the water hole and you SHOULD be able to just BARELY make out the elusive [insert Latin name here]. Those are from [insert geographical location here]. The next shy creature we are going to try to spot is……..well, I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to find him today. Okay, we are coming up on the big cat enclosure now! Let’s see if we can SEE them, they kinda like to hide at this time of day but if you crane your neck over there, you MIGHT be lucky enough….” Ad nauseum.
Needless to say we came home with about 15 pictures from the animal park. Seven of them were of the family posing near the animal statues scattered throughout the park, one was an accidental snap shot of the sidewalk, and the rest were photos of the animals we did actually see.
In summary, I would say that I am in a bit of a crisis over how to rate my two zoo experiences. I have a lot of questions. Has the world-class San Diego Zoo/Wild Animal Park done such an amazing job with endangered and protected species, that they’ve alleviated other zoos of the responsibility to do likewise? Another question is: does the right of the individual animal outweigh the right of the human public that will be enlightened, educated or enraged and activated by seeing it in captivity? Sadly, animals can’t talk. Would they take the offer of travel to a strange place, not-so-great room but full board in exchange for enriching the human experience? If they are born and reared in captivity, does their stress-level approach that of their wild and conquered sires?
And finally, will I EVER see a big cat at the San Diego Zoo or Wild Animal Park?
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02.16.09
Posted in General at 8:15 pm by Kathleen Beccue
The other day I was with some American girlfriends, enjoying a coffee and chat with them because we had called each other and had previously arranged our ‘play-date’, when my cell phone rang. It was one of my Albanian friends who said she was planning on making Pite—a somewhat involved, tasty, carbohydrate-laden dish—and wanted to know if I wanted to come and watch/help/learn. I’ve put the word out that I’m into food, so I’m glad that it is sinking it a little. Anyway, with regrets, I had to turn down the invitation because of previous plans.
A few days later this same friend phoned up and said, “We’re about to cut the cake for my daughter’s birthday—can you come?” Again, I was otherwise engaged: on a hike, in the mountains. “Sorry!”
A few days after that I did go to her house for a visit—I felt bad for turning aside her repeated hospitality, especially how it seems like I am the one who does all the initiating. In the course of our chat, drinking tea and playing with her young daughters, she mentioned that her birthday was coming up on March 9th. I pulled my purse closer to me and fished out my calendar saying, “Well, this is no guarantee that I will remember, but I like to try to remind myself of important dates…” She knit her eyebrows and asked what I had in my hand, what I was writing. I showed her it was a calendar, and she understood. Then she asked about all the other writing she saw in it. I started to explain my regular weekly engagements: “This day I meet with this group about community development. Tuesdays I have a standing dinner and Bible study meeting…” as well as the one-off events: birthdays and the like. Her eyes widened a little, and then she said the thing that made me want to kiss her full-on-the-lips:
“I guess I should call you a day ahead if I want to do something with you.”
A FIRST!!!!
Actually, a first and only. I had other people stand me up for two different dates that they had pre-arranged this week. Oh well, sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
Today is what that flow looked like: Per a conversation yesterday, I had arranged a trip to a village to greet and congratulate a young acquaintance on her recent engagement. In addition to bringing my own best wishes, I was bringing a crowd of her ‘city cousins’ in my big car. I called to confirm the trip with the cousins, and they said they would verify with the bride to be and call me back. An hour passed with no call back, so I decided to contact them again and find out what had happened. What had happened was unexpected guests—and guests pretty much trump any other activity that you have planned. I was then invited to come over and see these guests, and since my other plans were canceled, I thought, what the heck?
It turned out that I had previously met these unexpected guests during a trip to a Struga when I day-tripped there (with the ‘city cousins’) at Lake Ohrid. The tale of how they came to be guests in Skopje is just amazing and emphasizes the gulf between the West and the rest of the world.
A family of three—father, mother and 20-something daughter rode in a taxi (I don’t even know how much that might cost!!!) up from Struga to Skopje. The father needed by-pass surgery, so they came to the heart hospital in Skopje. Somehow the mother and daughter assumed that they could use his hospital room as a hotel and were a bit surprised to find themselves refused—they had even stopped on the way to the hospital to buy themselves pajamas.
The hospital recommended some nearby hotels, but all a bit out of their price range. So they recalled the Skopje family they had met briefly down in Struga and called the cell number they had. As people here often change cell phones and numbers more often than socks, it wasn’t surprising that the number was disconnected. Somehow, they recalled that the family lived near the central market, and so they took a taxi there and started asking anyone who would talk to them about this family. Eventually, someone recognized the description? The name? And lead them to the door of my friends. Not a small feat in a city of 700,000 souls! After greeting and rekindling the relationship—which had, up until this point, consisted of a coffee together in Struga—they were invited to stay the night, and apparently, for as many nights as is needed for the father to be released from the hospital!
Typically, I try to do a little more advanced planning than that, but now I see the error of my ways and how things just work out if you are willing to fly by the seat of your pants!!!
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01.23.09
Posted in General at 3:59 pm by Kathleen Beccue
The other evening I was hanging out with a girlfriend of mine, and, as tradition dictates, she wanted to escort me partway to my home. Conveniently located partway to my home is a shop where her mother works as a cashier, so she suggested we go by way of the shop so that we could greet her mother and otherwise liven up a dull evening for her.
We sat around on 50 kilo bags of flour talking—them querying me about my recent visit to the US and me inquiring about what happened here in my absence. Partway through our chat, a man walked in carrying a gun. It sounds much more dramatic than it was: the gun was in a carrying case and the man was all decked out in camouflage. Apparently he was on his way home from a hunting trip. He collected the items he needed, checked out and went on his way home. No one commented. I, personally, was nonplussed. It seemed crazy to me that a guy was walking around with a gun! In public! In the street! In stores! Even though he seemed to be a hunter, still…
But then I realized I didn’t grow up in a hunting culture in the States. From movies I’ve seen, I’ve been able to piece together that there are people who travel hither and yon with weaponry designed to deprive poor, innocent creatures of life. I guess the big difference between hunting culture here and there is that in the States, people usually aren’t taking taxis and buses to arrive at their duck or deer blinds. They have their own pickups, or a friends’, and they have their guns secured in a gun rack. No need to tote their .22 into the 7Eleven to pick up a case of beer. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that does happen. Still seems weird, crazy…
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07.18.08
Posted in General at 1:37 pm by Kathleen Beccue
No trip to Turkey is complete without a visit to a carpet shop or factory. If you are in Istanbul this involves being approached by a helpful English-speaking local who asks if they can help you find your way to such tourist spots as the Blue Mosque, the Aya Sofya, or Topkapi Palace. If you indicate that you do have your bearings and know where you are going, then the conversation turns personal, as in ‘where are you from, how long have you been in Turkey, how do you like Istanbul, etc.’ Once you are engaged in this conversation, the man says something like, “Hey!” (as if the thought has just at that moment occurred to him) “Do you like carpets? Have you seen some of the local carpets here? They are AMAZING, and I just happen to have a brother/cousin/friend who has a carpet shop just around this corner.” Sometimes laced into the subsequent talk is the idea that since-we-are-friends-I-can-get-you-a-real-deal-on-a-carpet or it really is a handicraft industry that is a must-see for any tourist and reassurances that really-just-look-you-don’t-have-to-buy-anything.
If he successfully herds you to the carpet shop, playing on your guilt since he has been so helpful and friendly and full of reassurances, the secondary assault team in the store takes over, and your new friend returns to the street in search of more lost tourists. The guys in the store are easily as nice and friendly as the guy who brought you here and effusively communicate that in Turkey hospitality is of the highest value and they will not be comfortable until you have a complimentary beverage in your hand, usually apple tea.
So you find yourself perched on a stool, balancing an awkward little glass of apple tea in your hand wondering if there is any chance you will get to do the shopping or touring you originally had in mind that morning.
“What is your favorite color?” they inquire after they’ve assured themselves that you are enjoying your apple tea. You protest, you say that all the carpets are just lovely, really, but you weren’t in the market for a carpet…
“Just tell us your favorite color,” they gently coo and again say you-have-no-obligation-to-buy.
If you cave to this first question, a small army of men will appear with every shape, size and design imaginable and will unfurl them at your feet, in YOUR favorite color. You are encouraged to shuck your shoes and let your feet experience the wonder of fine quality, hand-crafted, silk and wool carpets.
Every subsequent and reasonable protest you utter about not-buying is met with an extremely well-rehearsed apologetic. They make it their personal mission to educate you on what a quality carpet is and how if you buy from them you can be assured of getting the best [the universal existence of this pitch alone causes me to wonder if there were once hosts of unscrupulous carpet salesmen that gave Turkey a bad name in carpet sales...].
It is very difficult, but it is possible, eventually, to escape without having invested in a piece of art.
My Turkish carpet experience happened when I thought I was coming back from a tour of Ephesus. Our bus pulled into our pre-paid lunch location which just happened to be right next to a carpet factory—what a coincidence!!! After lunch we were herded into the carpet factory where we did get a very interesting demonstration of how the silk is harvested and processed and got to see a bunch of young women knotting carpets.
Before long the tour group was seated around the perimeter of a large showroom, each holding an awkward little glass of apple tea. And they did put on quite a show. About 10 men were constantly unfurling carpets before us while our English speaking host kept up a patter of carpet statistics, history and jokes. In spite of our dusty-Ephesus-feet we were all encouraged to wander barefoot on the different carpets.
Once the show was over, the salesmen were released upon us (they must’ve known it was a long-shot, since no one in our tour group was aware of this scheduled stop-over). David easily rebuffed their sales efforts with “They are gorgeous carpets, and I’d love to buy one–if I had any money.” That seemed to cool their overtures pretty rapidly.
After admiring myriad carpets and finding a bathroom I proceeded down a hallway and back to our awaiting bus. Before exiting, on the wall I noticed a very fine, small, silk, wall-hanging that depicts Noah, the ark, the flood, and even Noah’s mocking neighbors! While I’m examining it a different sales guy approaches me. He says something I don’t quite catch, and so I look over and smile at him, confusedly. Then he exclaims, “Oh, my, what a beautiful girl with a beautiful smile, thank you so much for making my day with your beauty!” or some such schlock.
Then he grabs my hand and makes as if to kiss it, and I put it gently but firmly away. He tries to get all chummy with me, “You are an American? From what city?…” etc. Then he moves into my appreciation of the Noah carpet and says, “For you, $4K!” At this I’m sort of surprised since the smaller one I saw earlier was quoted at twice that price (still, holy crap! $4K for a stinking little wall-hanging?). Moments later Dave, with 4 days of beard stubble and shorts and white socks and his shredded Birkenstocks, comes ambling up and carpet-sales-guy cools off the love potion and exclaims with false heartiness, “Is THIS your husband?!” and over-enthusiastically pumps Dave’s hand who is like, “whatever.” Finally, realizing that his carpet selling opportunity is rapidly winding to a close, he enthuses, “All right, all right! You have a wonderful day, you are such a wonderful young couple.”
I swear, if I would have been drinking milk, it would have been shooting out my nose, eyes, mouth, and ears at that last comment. Man, you can’t learn that kind of salesmanship—it is has to be innate!!!
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05.24.08
Posted in General, Skopje Life (early) at 7:52 am by Kathleen Beccue
I woke up early this morning, and, as we are going out of town for a week, I thought I’d hang the laundry out in the hopes that it will dry before our departure.
While outside I noticed a cat asleep on the patio outside our bedroom. I made the usual kitty ‘psst-psst’ noises to wake him up so that neither of us were surprised or frightened by the sudden awareness of the other. You know, that whole animal-human etiquette.
The kitty cat did not move or acknowledge my courtesy.
Uh oh.
I tip-toed around the cat to get a closer look and apparently he wasn’t just sleeping, he was taking the big sleep. His eyes were partially open, and no amount of “psst-psst-psst-ing” was going to awaken him.
Eeeeewwww.
So I start thinking: it is the cool of the morning, and while the cat is now feeling no pain, his continued presence will cause me no end of heartache, so he needs to be dispatched to the dumpster now. I consult with Beverly about the best way to do this. We both decide trash bag and shovel, and she even generously offers to help with the unpleasant task—what a gal!
We collect the tools and meet at the former cat. I open the trash bag and make it as big and low on the ground to make the transfer as uncomplicated as possible. Beverly places the shovel along the back of the corpse, but instead of getting up under it, the cat just slides along the ground. But I noticed that he didn’t change positions as he slid along, which was a massive relief on I don’t know how many fronts. My terror was that he would maybe emit some pathetic last-gasp kitty cat noise making it impossible (conscience-wise) to stuff him into a plastic bag for the remainder of his minutes on earth. Another terror lurking in the back of my mind was from perhaps too much ‘information’ about corpses from my limited exposure to such show as CSI and CSI:NY and CSI:Miami—I was anticipating all sorts of gruesomeness give me the heebie jeebies for the rest of my natural life.
But he was dead, for reals, and stiff.
Since the shovel transfer was going to be much more trouble than it was worth, and I had gloved hands, in the end, I just opted to grab his legs and lower him into the bag. Still super creepy, but not nearly as bad as the anticipation.
Wikipedia tells me that rigor mortis sets in around 3 hours after death and lasts 72 hours. Since the article was pretty technical, I didn’t understand what it described happens after the 72 hours, but I am grateful that I found that cat and was able to conduct him off of our property within that 72 hours.
Deed done, Beverly opined, “I guess that is the closest I’m gonna get to having a pet.”
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05.22.08
Posted in General, Skopje Life (early) at 2:43 pm by Kathleen Beccue
I’ve learned that there are roads that a woman should not walk along in broad daylight. Don’t panic, nothing bad happened…not exactly.
Dave and I had our car at the shop for some service. We jumped on the scooter to ride over and get it when it was ready. We were ripping along at a pretty good pace on a new road out in the country that by-passes a lot of the more congested city areas when, suddenly, the scooter lost power. We coasted into a neighborhood off to the side and thought to walk the rest of the way and then decide later what to do about the scooter.
A local woman was curious about the foreigners parking a scooter outside her gate, so in conversation we ventured a question: ‘do you know of any nearby mechanics?’ She gestured about 4 doors down. We thought to check it out, assuming, likely as not, there might be some scooter enthusiast operating out of his parents garage, but NO(!) it was a place called, ‘Auto-Klees German Auto Service’. Wow—great find! So while Dave discussed the scooter’s needs with the mechanics, I decided to walk the rest of the distance to retrieve our car to save some time.
I set out at a goodly pace, enjoying the rolling landscape, the crops, the sheep…but then a car on the road slowed down to a crawl next to me. Initially I just looked out of the corner of my eye to determine why this was happening, and noticed the driver was turned around a bit in his seat and looking at me. People are very friendly here, so I thought he might be offering me a ride, or even looking for directions, so I removed my sunglasses so as to see him better. In response he nodded very deliberately at me about three times. I didn’t understand and, no doubt, demonstrated my confusion by my expression and then the driver hastened away.
“That’s strange,” I said to myself, and put my sunglasses on and kept walking.
Then it happened again.
And again.
Hmmmm, nobody wants directions. We are in a remote area outside of town but near the main highway connecting Athens to Belgrade…it dawns on me that perhaps these guys think I am a working girl. What the—-?! What a hoot—especially given my attire! I certainly didn’t feel like I was wearing what is traditionally considered open-for-business-wear!
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