The Symposium

mind. No, no, a bit of dignity is needed here. Show some class. It's not
about me. It's about the whole of the Balkan civilization and its clash
with the evil empire of Swiss banks, timetables, cuckoo clocks, useless
multipurpose gadgets, chocolate and cheese. Yes, humanity in all of us
must prevail. The spirit. The song must prevail over mathematical for-
mulas, storytelling over gadgets. People who know the dignity of bat-
tling pain over lowly, dehumanized bureaucrats. That's it, with dignity.
I kept my chin high and back upright and managed to produce a
serene facial expression while we walked to the rooms. 'Buona notte,'
said Günter and opened his door. 'Buona notte,' I replied, inserted the
card and saw a red dot. I was on my own, on the fourth floor of a hotel
in Vitoria-Gastheiz in the Basque country. It was one past midnight
and the stupid door wouldn't open again. I took the elevator and went
to the reception.
By the time I got back to the room and approached the bed it was
nearly two o'clock. Günter must have been fast asleep by now. Good for
him. Swiss punctuality, they even get to bed on time. As I was putting
my shirt and trousers on the chair next to my bed, my wallet dropped
out of the back pocket and onto the floor. I picked it up, opened and
under the yellowish light of the bedside lamp I saw a fifty Euros bank-
note. It was reddish. It said fifty... Euros. Hell! If I still have a fifty and
a ten it must have been me who paid twenty Euros and... Günter paid
fifty!? Oh, no, no! I can't have that, no. This is even worse. The end of
the world. What will he think of me, now. Ah, these Balkan people are
all the same. Yes, that must be it. All bandits, highwaymen, thieves and
gangsters. That's what he must be thinking. What else? I'll go, knock
on his door, wake him up and apologize. I'll take a couple of beers from
my fridge. Five or six will do. Not enough beer, though. I'll take the
whisky, the rum and the bubbly wine too! I must apologize. Oh, what
a moron, what a blind moron I am! But, no, waking him up in the
middle of the night would make things even worse, even worse. Argh-
hhhhhh.... I went to bed, switched the light off and pulled the blanket
over my head. The pain I felt was acute.

I woke up in the dark and checked the time. It was seven. I got up, had a
shower, brushed my teeth, trimmed the beard, put some gel in the hair
and combed it towards the back (I have a tall, pronounced forehead
that adds credence to my already most exquisite intellectual creden-
tials). I put on my lucky, light blue, public-speaking shirt, trousers and
jacket. No tie today. I was going to be uncomplicated, approachable
and amicable. The way I normally am, intimately, as a person. The way
my best friend Bondarechenko, who has been living in Patagonia for
some thirty years now, knew me (we had an argument and he left in
sign of protest − said he wouldn't see me any more. Up to him really!).
Anyway, I checked my pockets and found a note of fifty, a note of ten
Euros and four coins. I worked it out during the night that I owed fif-
teen. We paid seventy: Günter fifty and I twenty. I owed him fifteen but
only had one banknote of fifty Euros and one of ten plus some coins. I
will humbly apologize, give him the fourteen Euros (keeping the fifty
note for myself, of course) and offer to pay a beer. Yes, I will repay my
debt with interests, valiantly, with dignity. That’s the kind of man I
am: Honourable and straightforward. I will repay the fourteen and buy
him a drink.
I felt good about myself. I did right. I solved a problem that could
easily drive some less tenacious people to despair. Other people, of
course, not me, not me. I am of a different stock altogether. I felt good,
very good indeed. I took my PowerBook Mac from the bag, sat on the
bed and turned the computer on. I wanted to check my Power Point
Presentation for the day. The title was well chosen, easy to remember
and meaningful: Cross Cultural Competence, the Riddle of the Bal-
kans, Nikola Tesla and Gavrilo Princip in the XXI Century.
I had forty-five PowerPoint slides and only thirty minutes. A
couple slides too many perhaps? Well, I am sure that the audience will
be most impressed by my presentation and won’t mind me overstep-
ping the time. Anyway, who is scheduled to talk after me? Let me see...
Jan Hieronimus van der Schniedlikke, Vrije Universitaet Amsterdam.
Hm, Hieronimus can wait. With such a long name... Then there was a
Dr. Jurić-Frankopan from Zagreb. Croatian, who cares...
At 8:15 sharp I exited the room and marched to the dining hall. A
rich breakfast was served on a long table and I decided to make the
most of this opportunity. I squeezed onto my plate three different types
of ham, two of cheese, some kiwi fruit, a piece of mango, an apple, two
slices of some excellent looking bread, some butter, mayonnaise, mus-
tard and finally filled a glass of blackberry juice. I found a free table for
two and decided to take the coffee later. The table was opposite the en-
trance and I could easily monitor the inflow of guests. I marvelled over
my overflowing plate for a moment and as I was taking my first bite of
the jamón and queso sandwich, I saw Günter walking in. He looked
pensive, I thought. Worried, perhaps? I waved to attract his attention
and he acknowledged me with a nod. I then tried to smile back and
nearly chocked myself to death. Günter went to take his food and left
me struggling for air. That’s all fine, I thought. I am well prepared.
'I eat very little for breakfast,' He said while putting on the table a
plate with a piece of apple and two strawberries on it. 'If I eat too much
early in the morning I cannot think straight'.
I dropped my half eaten jamón sandwich on the plate and took
out my pocket the already prepared ten Euro banknote and four coins
that I placed directly in the middle of the table, in front of his plate. He
looked surprised, but not too much. I give him credit for that.
'I owe you fifteen Euros,' I said. 'Here is fourteen that I have on me
and for the rest I’ll by you a drink'.
He tried to protest while cutting a strawberry in half. No, no, I was
unswerving, totally determined. I knew what a man of honour must do
in these situations and I did just that, no more and no less. With such
a magnanimous gesture, I saved my dignity and that of the Balkans in
this clash of civilizations! Ha, ha... and I was sure he didn’t expect this.
No, no he didn’t!
'It is really ok,' he tried. 'No need for money'.
No, no, no, I always pay my share. It's a matter of culture, I insisted
and ended on a strong point. It was one of the proudest moments of
my life.
We finished breakfast and I excused myself. I had to go back to the
room and collect my bag and papers. Günter would read his materials
and wait for me at reception. I went up to my room, took the key out
of my pocket and saw a red dot. I looked again and there was no dot.
Then, the red dot reappeared. Dot... no dot. I went down and had to
wait at reception for a bunch of confused Japanese tourists with no
Spanish or English to negotiate the surrender of their Imperial fleet.
After a while I saw Günter coming out of the dining hall.
'I am stuck here,' I cried. 'My key doesn’t work and I...'
'No worries,’ Said Günter and took a seat on a large leather sofa. ‘I’ll
wait for you here.'
After another fifteen minutes I managed to enter the room, collect
my bag and come down. As we exited onto the street, Günter opened
his umbrella and offered to share it with me.
'No,' I said mildly offended. 'I never use umbrellas!'
I told you so yesterday, I felt like adding but didn’t say anything.
The symposium was taking place at the nearby Faculty of Litera-
tures that we reached in a couple of minutes. We were late and I apolo-
gized profoundly to all participants blaming the key and the insensi-
tive Japanese tourists. Günter had nothing to do with us being late, I
explained repeatedly until Garikoitz suggested we should perhaps get
the Symposium going.
The lectures came thick and fast: the position of minorities in Fran-
co’s Spain, the identity of the second generation of Turkish migrants
in Germany, the problem of integration of Surinam and other Dutch
colonies immigrants in Rotterdam, the Nigerian religious practices in
the UK with special reference to the Pentecostal Church, the coexist-
ence of Greeks and Turks in Cyprus, the dialogue between Arabs and
Jews in Jerusalem, Sicilians in Sweden and so on and so forth. Günter
delivered his presentation on intercultural dialogue in multicultural
Switzerland and received a standing ovation. I thought that his deliv-
ery lacked a bit of umpf shall I say, but nonetheless, I applauded too for
I didn’t want the other colleagues to think that I was jealous. Oh god,
no. I applauded, smiled and then applauded some more even when
everyone else stopped.
When I took to the stage I looked at the audience and had the im-
pression that the numbers increased. Obviously, I thought. Lots of
scholars and students came just to hear my presentation. They were
intrigued, intellectually stimulated and provoked by the shear auda-
city of my postulates.
'The Balkans, according to Sir Winston Churchill's famous pun,
produces too much history. Today,’ I announced, ‘I shall explain why!’
I then clarified the subtle, and often so elusive point, that the Croats