Children, wet hair, the hummingbird diet, and words.
Children.
Montenegrins are very tolerant of children. Tuesday night we were eating dinner at Hemera, an amazing restaurant right next to our hotel, and Alex spent the entire time running around, and instead of glaring or ahem-ing, the waiter, Vlado, was playing with him. He lifted him up to the bar so he could see the bartender frothing milk, and chased him around, and talked with him...the assistant manager, Ivitsa, even got in on it. Now, when we walk past, they say, "Aaaalex!!!" And they high-five him.
And this morning, when Alex broke an enormous, heavy lamp, the hotel staff just only seems concerned he might have hurt himself - they were like, "Eh, adults break things all the time, too."
Wet hair and bare feet. The Hummingbird Diet (TM).
Montenegrin moms have mother-hen syndrome. I came down to breakfast at the hotel with wet hair the other day, and Glorija ran to turn off the air conditioner. I told her it was fine, but she looked skeptical. I could understand her concern if it was winter, but it's like 90F outside, even at 9 a.m.
And when I brought Alex down to breakfast yesterday in his pj's and barefoot, she kept pointing at his feet and saying, "Bos! Bos! How do you say..." And I was like, "Yes, barefoot. Bare is like naked, and foot." But probably she wasn't really asking how to say it, so much as questioning why.
And of course, she's very concerned that he eats so little. He's put himself back on his "hummingbird diet," which I probably shouldn't tell you about because I'll have a harder time trademarking it later, but basically it consists of whatever fruit catches his eye, candy, and, because he's a baby, milk - combined with near-constant motion, of course. This morning's breakfast was two slices of peach, two sugar cubes, a glass of milk, and I snuck in a spoonful of butter (which the doctor confirmed is a good strategy for increasing the caloric intake of a reluctant eater). Yesterday he ate four slices of apple and half a tea cookie. The day before that, two tea cookies and a bite of hard-boiled egg. His lunches and dinners have hardly been more substantial. Glorija keeps saying, "He needs to eat more, so he'll be strong!" And she even made him an omelet on the tiny little burner in the kitchenette off the breakfast room - which was a special measure because the hotel does not actually provide hot breakfast, she just pulled all the ingredients off the breakfast bar. (He ate only one bite.)
"Montenegrin" Language.
Words here are funny - something I say as a former linguistics major who supports 100% the ideas of cultural and linguistic relativity. :) Tomato is "paradajs" (pronounced like "paradise"). Egg is "jaja" ("yai-ya"). And when people say "fast" ("brzo" - pronounced brrr-zoh, with a trilled R), it sounds like a cat purring.
I learned the word for carrot at lunch today, but it was like five syllables long and reminded me of the Russian meaning "to scratch oneself," and I've since forgotten it.
Montenegrins are very tolerant of children. Tuesday night we were eating dinner at Hemera, an amazing restaurant right next to our hotel, and Alex spent the entire time running around, and instead of glaring or ahem-ing, the waiter, Vlado, was playing with him. He lifted him up to the bar so he could see the bartender frothing milk, and chased him around, and talked with him...the assistant manager, Ivitsa, even got in on it. Now, when we walk past, they say, "Aaaalex!!!" And they high-five him.
And this morning, when Alex broke an enormous, heavy lamp, the hotel staff just only seems concerned he might have hurt himself - they were like, "Eh, adults break things all the time, too."
Wet hair and bare feet. The Hummingbird Diet (TM).
Montenegrin moms have mother-hen syndrome. I came down to breakfast at the hotel with wet hair the other day, and Glorija ran to turn off the air conditioner. I told her it was fine, but she looked skeptical. I could understand her concern if it was winter, but it's like 90F outside, even at 9 a.m.
And when I brought Alex down to breakfast yesterday in his pj's and barefoot, she kept pointing at his feet and saying, "Bos! Bos! How do you say..." And I was like, "Yes, barefoot. Bare is like naked, and foot." But probably she wasn't really asking how to say it, so much as questioning why.
And of course, she's very concerned that he eats so little. He's put himself back on his "hummingbird diet," which I probably shouldn't tell you about because I'll have a harder time trademarking it later, but basically it consists of whatever fruit catches his eye, candy, and, because he's a baby, milk - combined with near-constant motion, of course. This morning's breakfast was two slices of peach, two sugar cubes, a glass of milk, and I snuck in a spoonful of butter (which the doctor confirmed is a good strategy for increasing the caloric intake of a reluctant eater). Yesterday he ate four slices of apple and half a tea cookie. The day before that, two tea cookies and a bite of hard-boiled egg. His lunches and dinners have hardly been more substantial. Glorija keeps saying, "He needs to eat more, so he'll be strong!" And she even made him an omelet on the tiny little burner in the kitchenette off the breakfast room - which was a special measure because the hotel does not actually provide hot breakfast, she just pulled all the ingredients off the breakfast bar. (He ate only one bite.)
"Montenegrin" Language.
Words here are funny - something I say as a former linguistics major who supports 100% the ideas of cultural and linguistic relativity. :) Tomato is "paradajs" (pronounced like "paradise"). Egg is "jaja" ("yai-ya"). And when people say "fast" ("brzo" - pronounced brrr-zoh, with a trilled R), it sounds like a cat purring.
I learned the word for carrot at lunch today, but it was like five syllables long and reminded me of the Russian meaning "to scratch oneself," and I've since forgotten it.