'Naši dani - priča o hrvatskom rocku'

I watch TV very, very rarely but recently found myself seriously enjoying TV documentary titled "Naši dani – priča o hrvatskom rocku" (Our days - stories about Croatian rock) that to my biggest surprise was done in excellent manner of the best foreign documentaries, not to mention this is the subject I always loved - history of popular music and the effect it had on listeners back than.

It is directed with greatest care by Andrija Vrdoljak using lots of archive material, original footage and interviews with surviving rockers who are almost all elderly citizens by now (its great fun to watch 1960s dancers who must be grandfathers and grandmothers now) and from technical/visual point of view it is in the same league as any BBC or "Discovery" production I always loved so much. The first two episodes were brilliant - they followed change from "family entertainment" to music of angry, young people who consciously or unconsciously used this music as form of rebellion against parents and society (but as ex-rocker Siniša Škarica notes, not against politics, that was too dangerous - all those angry young rockers who loved Jimmy Hendrix, for example, stayed clear from student demonstrations in early 1970s). The beginning of this documentary follows first "beat groups" like "Bijele Strijele" who idolised "Shadows" and were mostly clean cut, nice young men with slightly longer hair and our first rock star Karlo Metikoš who emulated Presley and drove girls crazy. The second episode explains the start of serious "author's work" or should we say beginning of original rock music as opposed to previous cover versions and this happened in early 1970s with Drago Minarec (first rock LP), excellent group "Time" and all-star musicians who backed young Josipa Lisac on her debut LP - composed by same Karlo Metikoš from previous episode - Lisac is curiously enough the only woman  in the story so far (along with some occasional back up singer) and lone female in the bunch of guys who actually matters. It is good to be reminded how important she was in the whole story because we simply don't have anybody else except Lisac as our own rock heroine.

Just saw a third episode and enjoyed it very much - it dealt with our first rock opera "Gubec beg" and all the nonsense its creators had to go trough while trying to get it on the stage, beginnings of some really successful Croatian rock bands and how everything changed when "Bijelo dugme" came along. "Bijelo dugme" were of course from Sarajevo (Bosnia) but they signed a contract with savvy recording company based in Zagreb since everybody else rejected them, so they somehow fall under umbrella of this title. Very good documentary.

"Homer's daughter" by Robert Graves

Of course I know Robert Graves from his "I Claudius" novel (and 1970s TV serial) but it wasn't until last night that I suddenly realized I know him actually much longer as he also wrote "Greek Myths" that I loved and cherished as a child raised on Greek mythology - it was probably thanks to him that I could rattle names of every hero and supporting character in front of our unsuspecting visitors and my proud parents. It all evaporated from my brain at this point but it didn't took me long to grab this book the moment I saw it and finally finished it last night with lots of skipping and mumbling to myself. Apparently I have really changed since than.

This time around Graves was not so interested in story itself - although there is a very exciting story to tell - as to theory how all those memories and oral traditions probably became interwoven into what we know today as "Odyssey". The novel is set in ancient kingdom on Sicily where princess Nausicaa has to somehow maneuver group of young rascals who in absence of her father plan to swiftly take over the rule and her hand - remember Penelope and her suitors? - along the way she connects previous stories, legends and myths together with her own. It is curiously dry book, intentionally written as ancient epic (lots of empty talk and declamations, long serious speeches and talks about Gods) that stop the story in tracks and often almost sideline the potentially exciting story with so much academic theorizing. If Graves wanted to present this as some ancient Greek play the way they were usually presented thousands of years ago in theatre, he definitely made his point but I found myself skipping a lot of empty talk and was relieved when I finally finished the darn book. I still love Graves but maybe I should give this another chance when I am in different frame of mind.

Back to black: "Film noir"

Just in case it was not already clear from these pages, I LOVE old black and white movies - the older, the better. It sure has to do something with all those Sunday afternoons of my childhood when I was glued to TV adventures of whoever was performing back than and curiously the new, ultra modern technology leaves me cold while these old dreamy black and white movies suck me in even now immediately. From the start, from the very introduction when title appears over some foggy city panoramic view, I purr with pleasure.

My first choice this time was 1950. "Where danger lives" by John Farrow (Mia's father).
It is actually not earth-shattering as I expected - the main reason to watch this is Robert Mitchum in curious role of a doctor but he had such charisma and presence that I would enjoy watching him in anything.Mitchum and Sean Connery are men I want to be when I grow up. He is somehow drawn into affair with wealthy young woman who naturally is not what she appears to be and in fact she almost destroys him until the end of the movie, but I'm not here to explain or tell the plot. There is very interesting role play between them as strong, silent Mitchum slowly becomes a puppet in hands of initially soft and unprotected woman who (in memorable scene set in a shabby hotel room) turns into tiger. There is a very good cameo by Claude Rains who should have more space because he was excellent and lots of interesting small roles of strangers who more or less dwarf any plan couple has to escape the country. Somehow the final results are not really that brilliant and it turns into two-people stage play but thanks to Mitchum it somehow stands the test of time.


If previous movie was comforting-but-not-essential experiment in "film noir" genre, "Act of violence" (1948) was gripping and really exciting. I don't know why it took me so long to finally check this movie,probably because I disliked silly title but once I started to watch it I simply couldn't believe my eyes what an excellent jewel this is.

Fred Zinneman directed this and apparently it was forgotten and impossible to find for decades but I can whole heartedly recommend it to anybody who love "film noir" genre - instead of being just another, nice old black and white movie, this turned out to be such a good, strong thriller that I ended up fully alert and awake until the very end. Zinneman weaves excellent story where the all american good guy is haunted by some mysterious limping man but as the movie progresses we suddenly realize that roles are changing and viewer can't help but start questioning some really important moral issues here - contrary to simply passive watching, we started to THINK " hey, who is really a bad guy here?" - there is not much to talk about female characters here (wives and girlfriends are terribly one-dimensional in their "goodness" and meekness) until in the second part of the movie story proceeds into a criminal underworld where we meet elderly, tired prostitute played by brilliant Mary Astor (previously known for her elegance and aristocratic poise) who almost steals the whole movie with her realistic, powerful acting. Her character "Pat" is worlds away from all these wives and girlfriends who live protected from anything unpleasant, here is a woman living on her own by her own wits and still possessing far more humanity than anybody around her. Excellent, excellent movie.

"The Times They Are A-Changin" by Bob Dylan (1964)

It would have been easy to explain this album with political upheavals happening in the world back than and describe it as folk-protest collection of songs by angry young troubadour - its all true but listening it carefully now half a century later it is still a powerful, almost Gothic, stark and dark music that either gets listener's complete attention or whizz by without leaving a trace on ones consciousness. If you are into "pretty music" that cheerfully plays in the background without any brain activity this is definitely not for you. If there IS any brain activity going on, chances are this might stop you in your tracks.

Contrary to my expectations (again) while bravely attempting to - for the first time ever - plow trough Dylan's massive discography with open ears and heart (and minimum outside influences and informations) I got completely stuck on this album and listening it now several times in a row. "Ballad of Hollis Brown" is pure voodoo and it gets me every time - and its just one of the many songs here. At this point I must say that everything about (than young) Dylan seriously started to make me bow in awe - the eloquence of his poetry, the powerful imagery, the timelessness of simple-but-effective music (that sounds as something people from mountains might have sung centuries ago) and even the weary sound of this old-soul voice have a huge appeal to me and somehow unconsciously I understand it speaks to lover of literature in me. Across the time (half a century later!)  this album has found a new fan.

"Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" by Bob Dylan (1963)

The album that made Dylan a household name - ubiquitous cover versions and all - and proved that "Hammond's folly" might in fact be actual new voice worth hearing.

As opposite to Dylan's debut album, here we have lots of original material that sounds at the same time contemporary and ancient,like some ancient traditional folk songs that he used for inspiration. Music wise, here is this angry young man with basically ugly voice and minimal musical background (of course, it was all intentional, the whole package would not work if "Columbia" surrounded this raw, new voice with a strings and backing choruses as they did on their commercial releases by Johnny Mathis and others) talk-singing about topics that could be explained in hundreds of ways. Although Dylan of course only follows the path of artists who came before him, he somehow twists it in his own new perception and true art here is that his songs appealed to so many listeners around the world who heard a message in them. Everything about this album, from singer's voice to the topics (and even the cover photo) is a break from than current crooner's tradition of "entertainment" and its not possible to underestimate the effect it had to generations of listeners (The Beatles wore the record out, Van Morrison was shocked, poet Allen Ginsberg wept) and its future totemic status.

Personally, I find "Masters of War" the most chilling song here but new manager made sure that other songs were covered by commercial artists and had a huge chart visibility.
Not sure how many kids buy this album nowadays when music industry had turned into completely opposite direction and technological special effects, gimmicks and visual hedonism seemingly completely overshadowed the lyrics, but who knows, the tide of times might turn again.

"No direction home" by Martin Scorcese (2005)

Last night I watched excellent two-part documentary about early years of Bob Dylan titled "No direction home".
Now here is where I must explain that all these years Dylan somehow never appealed to me - to my biggest regret and embarrassment (what was I thinking?) he used to be annoying presence from 1960s that I never bought or perhaps it was huge idolatry that always followed him that I disliked. However, it was last year that I carefully started to explore his discography and since I am still under fresh impressions of his first few LP albums from early 1960s it was the perfect moment to see this documentary that basically covers this period.

Martin Scorcese "directed" or should we say "tailored" original footage pieces (in many occasions black-and-white snippets) into cohesive story that gives a glimpse into a world back than, Dylan's background and early influences. Dylan himself talks about these times and he comes across as clear-headed, witty and faintly intimidating - he skips completely any mention about his family, like they never existed and goes straight into arrival in New York where Greenwich Village was a centre of folk music and this is where instantly he found his natural place between hungry but enthusiastic beatniks, poets and all sorts of artists who embraced him for who he was, one of them. Although Dylan's motives for arrival in New York were completely different (he wanted to visit his idol Woody Guthrie) somehow destiny placed him right where he belonged and just watching the atmosphere around him in this eccentric centre of all kinds of creativity is a huge thrill to see.

There were literary a hundreds of young folkie artists around at this time so its a miracle that young, skinny and defiantly unglamourous Dylan got attention of "Columbia records" that eventually gave him chance to record and catapulted him into stardom. Not some private owned, independent company without distribution but "Columbia records" that charted huge hits behind commercial artists of the day, usually backed with angelic choruses and strings. Surely there was a whole team of people involved, including savvy manager who made sure that Dylan's songs were also covered and recorded by many pop artists but eventually listeners and record buyers would come back to the source. Folk queen Joan Baez became his biggest champion and proudly introduced him to her audience, for a while they were THE couple of 1960s. The documentary makes clear that Dylan could go on like a protest singer forever but something inside of him itched for a change and he had to follow his artistic muse that led him to completely another direction, so he left Baez and protest songs and moved into blues rock  that alienated a lot of followers - reaction of the audience is stunning as they would literary take this change very personally and yell at him on a stage. At certain point of the movie the whirl around him (specially on tours) becomes truly uncomfortable with thousands of people having their own expectations and becoming frighteningly hostile, from autograph seekers to a journalists ("suck your sunglasses" somebody with a camera orders during a press conference) - this literate, clever and artistic young man faced a mass hysteria mixed with amazing patronising and deliberate misunderstandings. The movie ends in 1966 when motorcycle accident literary stops him in his tracks and forced him to re-think his next steps. Amazing not only because of historical perspective of politics, music industry and atmosphere at the time but also because lots of colleagues testify their experiences and views.

"Aida" by Giuseppe Verdi

This epitome of bombastic, heroic, spectacular and larger-than-life theatrical circus has long been one of the biggest audience draws in the history of opera.
Although I was raised in a working class family that had no connections with classical music whatsoever, "Aida" was in fact the very first of my theatre experiences but the only thing I remember from that evening is that it was loud and I was bored.

Fast forward some 30 years forward and this is where I started seriously exploring and researching the world of classical music. It was Gluck, than voices, than instrumentalists that got my attention before I decided that in order to understand what is all the fuss about Callas and others, I might as well hear original recordings from pre-WW2 era and slowly make up my way to present time. Wrong - just as I enjoyed early 1920s blues and jazz recordings, I loved these early opera stars so much that for a long time I was stuck right there and perhaps in a way I still am. The very first "Aida" I purchased was 1946. recording conducted by great Tullio Serafin with Maria Caniglia in title role and golden-voiced Beniamino Gigli as Radames. I loved and cherished this recording for many years, loved beauty of Gigli's voice (to my ears far prettier than Caruso, if I might say so), poise of Caniglia and her stage opponent, wonderful Ebbe Stignani (Amneris) and it was trough this recording that I memorised some parts of Verdi's masterpiece.

Recently I purchased another "Aida" - curiously it was again conducted by same Tullio Serafin but some ten years later with Maria Callas and Tito Gobbi as lovers. As much as I love the music and naturally 1955. recording sounds much fresher and real than the old one, this time I am affected more with music than singers. Orchestration is lovely, sound much,much better and since I know the music, I can easily hum along. But - and this is purely subjective - Gobbi cannot replace Gigli in my memories and as for Callas, she had a particular, peculiar sound that I don't care much for. I know that she is considered a bench mark against many female singers and phenomenon that crossed into myth, however there is a "hollowness" in her tone that does not appeal to me, no matter how instantly recognisable it is.

Recently viewed 1989. live performance from Metropolitan opera was revelation because now for the first time I could connect music to a visual spectacle and what a spectacle it was! Conducted by James Levine and staged with mind-blowing scenography, hundreds of extras and even horses, this "Aida" was truly a show - Placido Domingo was excellent as expected but the biggest surprise was Met's darling Aprile Millo who as Aida showed excellent power of heroic voice mixed with exactly right tenderness of "pianissimo" that I had not heard from either Caniglia or Callas. Watching her Amneris, excellent Dolora Zajick I wondered who is the real heroine here, because her role has actually far more depth and characterisation than Aida - great acting as well.

Next time - my opinion about Italian 1953. movie with Sophia Loren singing "Aida" on Renata Tebaldi's voice. Clash of voices and tits!

"Moj Život Moja Istina" by Jovanka Broz

Somehow accidentally, another book I purchased on "Interliber" book market was about Jovanka Broz, Tito's widow. There is of course, no connection between her and Eva Braun except that both of these women were connected with country leaders and both suffered because of it.

I must make clear here that figure of Tito was a prominent part of my childhood, as I grew up in 1970s Yugoslavia when his portraits watched from the walls of many public institutions and we all saw him as a father figure. Because the country was young and he held unprecedented length of leadership (he was elected president for life) generations were raised (and some died,like my parents) believing in Tito as semi-God and affectionate "old man" who was very close to every man's heart. His death in 1980 deeply distressed and saddened millions who lived in Yugoslavia back than (we all remember exactly where we were on that day) because not only he was loved as a close family member but people were worried that without his country might eventually fall apart. Which is exactly what happened. I always get surprised when foreigners ask me about Tito expecting stories about  tyranny or dictatorship - on the contrary, I remember the country idolising him and from contemporary TV interviews he emerges as a extremely likable grandfatherly figure.

But human nature is such that people love to torn down everything from pedestals, so in decades after his death, with country first falling down into economic crisis, than going into brutal civil war, it seems that same citizens who adored him earlier took sadistic pleasure of dragging his memory trough the mud and blaming him for everything. Listening to all these people who claim they opened Champagne bottles when he died, I wonder who were those millions of saddened faces I saw standing miles and miles as the train with his coffin passed by. Did everybody suddenly got Amnesia and forgot how country was overwhelmed with sadness? I was there and I remember.

Jovanka Broz was his wife and for decades she embodied the first lady of Yugoslavia. Generations of people loved her and watched as she slowly changed from stunning beauty by his side into mature, matronly figure always smiling and charming foreign politicians. From what I remember, she was impeccably dressed and coiffured presence on many public events (when older, she became much heavier and that bun became her trademark) and yes, as Tito was untouchable so was his wife. There were some allusions of her meddling into politics and being completely cut away from him in the last year's of Tito's life, however nobody knew "for sure" what exactly happened after his funeral. Some said she was under house arrest and for last 30+ years she was taboo and "persona non grata". Jovanka herself did not gave any interviews. Until now.

"Moj život, moja istina" (My life, my truth) is a slim volume (some 200 pages) based on interviews she gave to novelist and journalist Žarko Jokanović shortly before she died this year at the age of 89. Some parts of these interviews were published in newspapers and they were sensation, it seems people were more than curious to find out first hand experiences of someone who was almost royalty for them. Of course I was excited and purchased this book without thinking twice, though I somehow expected "poor me" perspective of its subject and Jokanović's idolising writing style. In a surprisingly dry and dour tone Broz talks with a voice of an old person, kind of voices I almost forgot from my childhood - provincial people who always asked about my family background and tried to pigeonhole everybody by where they came from. She obviously puts a great deal of importance of her own family background and almost third of the slim book is about her own roots, village and relatives. As a young, new generation born in a Croatian capitol I never cared less for these things and still don't think it really matters. For Jovanka Broz (and many of her readers) its still a big deal. So the book covers her family roots in a detail, than shortly describes WW2, very vaguely describes marriage of 28 years and than goes on about last 33 years she suffered poverty and isolation under new Serbian government. Not that she was Imelda Marcos, but she definitely lived lavish lifestyle and had everything taken away from her before she was officially placed in a house arrest.

I still don't understand why - Broz herself claims she was suspected as politically dangerous person because she knew "too much" and various fractions claimed she was either western or soviet spy. The person emerging from these pages is bitter, vindictive and obviously scarred with these experiences - on the other hand, I am aware of gleeful pleasure certain number of population felt with her circumstances and fall from grace. Maybe with time the tide will turn the other way and future generations might see her differently but as for the book itself it is a extremely short, vindictive (she calls certain politicians "pigs" and "bastards") and somewhat disappointing read full of self congratulations and claims of blamelessness.

Goebbels family suicide

One of the most chilling things about Eva Braun biography is casual tone author uses when mentioning WW2 victims and atrocities as comparing with idolising tone when writing chapters about Braun's heroism, loyalty and dignity (?). While using Eva Braun as symbol of all German women who were ignorant of genocide, Lambert simultaneously tries to clear up the conscience of her own German mother who refused to talk about those subjects. I don't accept the version Lambert serves and although surely there were no Internet, TV and so much media connections like today, people must talk even if just between themselves - surely there were neighbours who disappeared and school friends who were "sent away".

One short but unforgettable sentence describes true fact about something that happened in the middle of WW2 - Nazis took around 90 Jewish orphans (aged up to 6 years!) and shoot them in the forest near Kiel. This butchering and slaughter of poor, scared little children who must have been crying and did not understand why this is happening to them is still haunting me and I can't help but imagining the picture - honest to God, I would give my own life if somehow I could be transported there and save them. I could strangle Nazi officials (together with Hitler and Eva Braun) with my own hands knowing this. But right after this short sentence, author goes on about idyllic life Eva Braun had on that darn hill there on Hitler's countryside property where wife's of Nazi officers sunbathed and had blonde haired children playing on the terrace. Did Eva Braun and all those women knew about Jewish orphans killed in forest? Did they cared as long as their little lives were protected?

One of those women was Magda Goebbels, wife of propaganda minister. By all accounts a beautiful, elegant woman, true Nazi-mother and jewel of Nazi parties (she presided over lavish parties where Eva Braun was not allowed, since she had to stay hidden in her rooms) she had six children with Goebbels and one grown up son from first marriage. Her stepfather used to be a wealthy Jew who was later killed in Buchenwald concentration camp and Magda was known to never help anybody who would ask for help, explaining her husband's antisemitism with ""The Führer wants it thus, and Joseph must obey". At the very end of the war, Goebbels family hid in Hitler's bunker and after Hitler and Eva committed suicide, Goebbels decided to rather kill themselves and their children than fall into hands of Soviet soldiers who were already entering Berlin and coming close every hour. There is a letter that Magda sent to her son Harald (who was prisoner in North Africa) where she explains herself in completely brain-washed, Nazi terms and asks him for understanding. Never for a second there is a sense of guilt or passing thought about horrors Nazi victims must have experienced, Magda only thinks about herself and her own loyalty to Hitler. She refused offers from others to have children smuggled out from Berln and rather chose suicide - or should we say murder - of her children with cyanide capsules that kids took not understanding what is happening, just like echo of those little Jewish orphans killed in a forest.

This is a photo of Goebbels family with older son from Magda's first marriage inserted in a picture.

"The lost life of Eva Braun" by Angela Lambert

In previous post I had mention about book market "Interliber" and how surprisingly busy & crowded it was there.
In a such crowded area it is necessary to be somewhat selective and browse stalls with interesting choices - I avoided everything where too many giggling teenagers were grouping or titles about fictional "romantic historical" novels, cookbooks, astrology or whatever else is "popular" and tried to have a good look at things that interest me. Somehow I noticed biography of Eva Braun and this particular book is in fact the first one I started reading on my vacation now.

Fascinating subject but oh, what a biased author. Even with a tons of research into contemporary biographies, memoirs, Braun's own diary, letters and home movies, Lambert constantly feels its important to somehow connect her own family history into all this - her own mother was German born in the same year as Eva Braun so every time when story should follow or explain Braun, we got sidetracked by similar experiences about author's mother (who never even met Braun in the first place). Lambert simply assumes that same age and background should probably connect these two, it gets predictable, annoying and tiresome. Lots of amateur psychoanalysing and she even connects German character with Brother Grimm's brutal fairy tales (she's obviously not familiar with the fact that these stories are read everywhere in continental Europe without having Nazi effect on people).

As for the main subject, even with Lambert's best efforts (she turns over backwards to portrait Braun as heroic) she emerges as self-obsessed, navel-gazing opportunist Bimbo who accepted luxury as payment for her silence, obedience and life in shadows. The question is not "did she known what was going on around her?" but "did she care?" - her own parents were silenced with gifts and Braun herself was mostly concerned only with changing clothes, experimenting with hairstyles and new nail polish. The only time ever she had approached Hitler was when she heard about possible ban on female cosmetics! We are talking about adult woman here. As the story progresses, contrary to author's intention, Braun comes up not as "ordinary young woman" but as someone who consciously switched off when necessary and was willingly brain-washed into the final end. I really wonder what would be her reaction had she lived long enough to face Nürnberg trials.

Vacation

The last weeks of my ship life were pure agony - I was exhausted with never ending inventories, tired from constant work and unhappy with living conditions in another "dry dock" where all the crew lives without air condition, water and electricity for weeks. While maintenance workers deal with cleaning the pipes, metal works, changing the carpets and so on, my team was constantly counting and re-counting and double checking our inventory just to face harsh reality that at the end of the day we don't have water for shower/WC and have to leave our cabin doors open (by a shoe or plastic bottle or whatever) because there was no air whatsoever. Since I don't have windows, imagine the nightmare of trying to sleep with no air around. Except occasional smell of sulphur that came from cleaning the pipes.

When my final day came I was not sad to leave, in contrary I couldn't wait to get out and although pushing and pulling my luggage was nightmare as usual, I managed to reach Zagreb safely.

The very first thing I did was to walk around the familiar streets a bit and to visit a famous "Interliber" book market that happens in Zagreb annually - it was exciting though hugely crowded and all those people somehow killed the pleasure of browsing, it was a bit too commercial for my taste. Lots of interesting titles but not much space (I prefer to browse without teenage gangs and housewives around me), however I did manage to purchase several interesting titles and presents, one of them in fact I started to read immediately, it is a new biography of Eva Braun that will occupy me for some time now and as I am sitting in my countryside escape I am already excited about all these things that I missed: solitude, books, movies and music without anybody around me to bother me. And definitely no work or any obligations.

Quasarr Feat.Josipa Lisac

My all-time favorite female singer is 63 now and surprisingly still very much active, just saw her newest video clip.

I had written about Josipa Lisac many times on this pages. She was a big and influential part of my formative years when as a young person I searched for idols and people to look up as inspiration. As I grew up and changed, most of these idols felt sideways but I always kept a soft spot in my heart for Josipa who has never changed - she always was and continued to be a fascinating, eccentric and likable artist who is at the same time biggest prima donna and earthiest person around. Not only there is a huge body of work behind her (that covers more than four decades on music scene) but she is consistently entertaining in her interviews: mannered one moment, than completely down to earth and straightforward the next, she is absolutely fascinating subject of any TV or radio program. I think that even my own Croatians slowly came to understand that now elderly Lisac is a very original,national treasure who deserves love and respect, and should not be mixed up with the rest of pop music stampede - for better or worse, she is in a league of her own.

Since the death of her beloved husband/composer Karlo Metikoš, it was very hard to get new material from Lisac. Mainly she had focused in keeping his memory alive trough series of concert tributes to him and somewhat reluctantly accepted occasional duets and cameo appearances with new hit makers. Besides live recordings she created only two studio albums and those were extremely short (eight song each), frankly pale collections where her charisma far overshadowed the material. In all honestly, I think that nothing here matches the spark and inspiration of Metikoš- penned songs and she must have been aware of it. So on she goes with spectacular concerts, theatrical outfits, witch-like hairstyles and   occasional guest performances where she gives her regal approval to some new pop band, in this case a bunch of gothic rockers from band "Quassar". It all keeps her still working and media worships her footsteps while the rest of her contemporaries are long retired, however I am not completely convinced with this new collaborations. The song is not specially interesting (sounds too much like already old-hat "Depeche Mode") and the final result (including video clip) feels too much like necessity for both sides - guys need a star cameo to get media visibility and lady herself needs some fresh input in her career. It is of course very complimentary that she does not collaborate with commercial artists and associate herself with left-field young rockers but in all honestly I don't see any particular reason why should she be involved in this - her part is mostly background vocalizing anyway and this sounds very much like a parody of her younger self.

Hans Koeberich

On this picture is Mr.Hans Koeberich - the passenger who recently died on our ship, just as he was returning back from shore excursion in Yalta.
I felt strangely moved by this - the passing of unknown elderly gentleman with a nice, tender eyes who travelled alone and like all of us, living and breathing, had still some plans for the next day but had not lived to see the next morning.

Big majority of cruise ships passengers are elderly people - once retired, now they have time and possibilities to see the world and everything they missed during life of hard and constant work. Alas, perhaps it would have been better if they sacrificed a little from their younger years because now in the Autumn of their lives, body is not so strong like before - it is difficult to climb all those rocky roads and cobblestone streets under the scorching sun or in the drizzling rain, not surprisingly some elderly passengers die on the cruise ships because heart gives away under such a pressure. Though they might be a little tiresome sometimes during my working hours, I still feel compassion for them and try to be understanding when I see they are a little lost (not to mention the language barrier). In fact, I am glad when I see couple of very elderly friends traveling together and still having their own little adventure, even at such late chapter in life.

Mr.Koeberich traveled alone - I know nothing about him, was he a widower or single gentleman, apparently nobody knew him. All we can tell is that he had nice, intelligent eyes and was curious about cultural sights of Yalta - he had chosen to see not commercial tourist traps but museums, galleries and castles. And perhaps it was all too much for his heart, all that walking up and down, the sheer physical effort was perhaps too exhausting and eventually probably the heart gave away. What stops me in my track and made me think about him not as another number in statistics but as a human being who lived between us just a moment ago is the fact that death never comes in "appropriate moment" - in this case in the middle of the cruise. Mr.Koberich never expected this would be his last journey, had he known this, he would probably stay at home instead packing his luggage and carefully selecting which shore excursions he wants to see. Each single of us has his own plans, dreams and "things to do" but we can't possibly know the exact moment when this earthly life will end for us. If we know, we might relax a little bit and take it easy without getting upset or stressed, letting life flow its natural flow. As it happened, Mr.Koeberich never finished his cruise and had not seen the places he wanted to see, at the end of that day he has already left our world. The final chapter came unexpectedly as it would for all of us. Of thousand of people here on this ship (his death was kept a secret as not to upset the other passengers) I might be the single person who mourns him and waves goodbye to him, because he travelled alone and did not had friends with him. Rest in peace, Mr.Koeberich.

The Black Sea

The very first time on the Black Sea - as a difference from my young colleagues who couldn't care less for these "less sophisticated places" (they were ready to take a train ride from Dover to London, but would not bother to simply walk out from the ship in Odessa) I am still excited about traveling,visiting places, discovering their story, history and present, enjoy the atmosphere and simply soak everything in, even now, after 10 years of sailing. The fact is - I am still struck with awe and wonder that it's ME walking these strange streets in different parts of the world, where by any regular, logical expectations I should not be. All of my Croatian childhood acquaintances have completely routine lives with TV dinners, steady work and barbeque weekends, occasional vacation once a year somewhere - and here am I, walking the streets in Odessa after being already familiar with Lisbon, Barcelona, St.Petersburg, Cape town, Naples and Athens. Sure, nowadays all these places are slowly losing their own particular character and same poster advertises product all over the world - the only difference in local trinkets being just a name written on a keychain & ashtray (and even this does not guarantee the background of the product). McDonalds is McDonalds, be it Turkey or Norway.

Back to the Black Sea - I was very excited and curious about visiting it now for the very first time. (I am slowly running out of places to discover) From what I read on Internet,it is the Black Sea (and not the Greece) that was the true "cradle of civilization" - here were the very first big cities and long-forgotten kingdoms, probably all buried down under the water as the Mediterranean sea bursted trough once-solid Bosporus and what was a huge lake, became even bigger sea (a myth about great Flood probably dates from this time). Greek sailors have brought home new ideas and art from the cities they have discovered on the Black Sea and whatever culture later became famous as "greek" and "roman" actually originated from the Black Sea.

However, history was not kind to the Black sea - one brutal warrior tribe replacing the others, cities completely burned down to the ground, new religions, new political regimes. What we see today are leftovers of once magnificent vacation spots for wealthy classes who used to enjoy sunny summers at the Black Sea. The weather did not permit me to see Yalta (hopefully next time) but I did manage to roam trough the streets of Odessa one sunny morning - like a twisted mirror image of my own Zagreb, this is the city that proudly exhibits some typical bourgeois "beauties" (Opera house, neo-roman buildings and parks) while real life is hidden a little bit behind the scenery - grey buildings covered with posters (rappers and philharmonic orchestra), unbelievable and unreal supermodels posing with elegant clothing while ordinary, grumpy people walk the streets badly dressed and not smiling. My attempts to change money in banks was welcomed with firm "niet!" (without passport one can't change the currency and as a seaman I have to keep my passport on the ship) and all these restaurants and bars were not really inviting - a lot of strip clubs and late night bordellos. So on one hand there is a former beauty in some old palaces and buildings, on the other grim reality of present time - no funds, no hope, not much to smile about. That was my impression of Odessa that reminded me a lot of my own hometown some 20 years ago (Zagreb did progressed in the meantime, I must admit).

Romania - to be precise, Constanţa  - was a huge eye opener. Whenever one think his town is dirty, impoverished or simply boring, just look at Constanţa. It is the biggest and most famous vacation spot for locals, however the city is definitely very depressing, dirty and yes, ugly. Not the first choice for vacation. The present Constanţa is situated a little further from the original city (that used to be one of the oldest cities on the Black Sea) and centuries were not kind to it, particularly past regimes that used it for port and than closed all the jobs that brought money to locals. Now is basically a ghostly shadow of once-prosperous city with depressed people walking trough depressing streets. The architecture looks very much like Belgrade (lots of quaint little houses with small gardens and backyards) but far more dirtier - which is something I don't understand, it does not take money to clean the streets and beautify one's surroundings, my opinion is that these people simply don't know how to live and don't care for being clean or healthy. Again, huge difference between posters that advertise better life and reality on the streets. It must be very frustrating and confusing for locals to see these posters with happy,smiling and clean faces advertising kind of life real people don't have and can't have because reality is completely different: it also must have create completely twisted sense of values, I guess its all about having, buying and spending. From what I had seen, the Black Sea today is not the place one wants to live safely or happily: just like ancient Carthage was eventually razed to the ground by Romans never to achieve its former glory, whatever cities, art or beauties used to be situated here on the Black Sea, communism managed to destroy them all - nowadays its all about survival and hopeless longing look towards the West, like West has anything better to offer. I read very interesting interview with young romanian movie director who claims that his work is never appreciated at home because locals couldn't care less for their own home-based art, everybody looks upon West like real quality (which is just product of well-financed advertising) - he might have been awarded on international film festivals but his own people still believe that Hollywood is far superior, simply because its far glossier.

It is pity I won't see Bulgaria this time around, but who knows, maybe later. Whatever I have seen so far wouldn't make me pack my bags and live there.

"The Time-traveller's Guide to Medieval England" by Ian Mortimer

As much as I enjoyed "The Mill on the Floss", all that quiet, pastoral little stories made me drowsy and I needed something more "meaty" - the perfect choice to keep my attention and curiosity (combined with interesting informations) was "The Time Traveller's Guide to Medieval England" by Ian Mortimer.

It is a lovely, inspired and passionately written peek to daily life of 14.century England - not only aristocratic life of castles, wars and fair ladies but life of ordinary men and women. Thought the human nature basically stayed the same - as Mortimer points out, at every time in a history people loved each other, cleaned their houses, laughed, cried and died - it is behaviour and expectations that changed a lot with time and if things seem strange from our perspective, just think what will future generations think about us.
The book starts with a picturesque entry of reader (time traveller) into a medieval Exeter with its cathedral, bridges, children begging, shop sellers and a "Shitbrook" where all the  excrement of the city was emptied. From a Shitbrook we continue this fascinating introduction to a life back than - what people ate, how did they live, how long did they live, what kind of house/furniture they had, what were they wearing, where did they travel, about food/drinks/hygiene/ health/medicine, the law back than and finally a chapter about games,music and literature at the time.

It is utterly fascinating story because strange as those people might seem to modern eyes, we recognise ourselves in their passions, fears and joys. Children were supposed to be regularly beaten and parents were irresponsible if they didn't do so. Boys at the age of seven were hanged for theft. This kind of violent discipline had shaped character of medieval men who were regularly fighting wars at the age of 17 and 18, burning witches and torturing servants (life span was very short at that time). Religion was everywhere, present in daily life and often the reason for travelling - just as today tourists travel to "see the world", 14. century pilgrims would travel to see cathedrals with fingers, beards and bones of famous saints (Virgin Mary's milk in Walshingham Priory) and bringing home souvenirs from their journeys. Some of these journeys were described by Chaucer in his classic "Canterbury Tales" and it is with Chaucer that Mortimer chooses to end this sweet and too short book. Definitely one to re-read.