triumph

I have now mastered the cyrillic alphabet. I would show off my prowess, but I don't know how to type those characters. I transliterated my housemates names & made place cards for dinner last night. No one seemed to appreciate it particularly, but that's okay. It felt like success.
(blantantly copied from my other blog: pustolovina.blogspot.com It will one day be my primary blog, while this will remain my outlet for the stories that I don't want the grandmother to read.)

Many of the cyrillic letters are new to me. When I write them, it all ends up looking crooked and not like the letters in my Teach Yourself Serbian book. I write like a first grader.

In other Serbia-related news, I gave up reading Bosnian Chronicle. It's written by Ivo Andric, the only Serb to ever win a Nobel Prize for literature. It was painfully boring. I read a hundred and fifty pages in which: a Napoleonic French diplomat is dispatched to Ottoman Travnik. He hires a local assistant. He fires said assistant. He gets a new assistant, a Frenchman. Tension develops between the Frenchmen. Main character's family arrives & they move into a new house. An Ottoman messenger dies; the local vizier holds onto power.

Quite ironic that this icon of Serbianness writes about French people. My fingers are crossed that he is not a national hero, that I will not have to sit through long sessions others praising his genius.