Diary of a writer from the West Balkan, EU, 2012, Chapter 1.

"The Balkans begin at the Rennweg"

Klemens von Metternich, Austrian Chancellor (1773 – 1859)

1.

'If you don't want to be shot, I advise you not to come here, especially when it is hunting season', the man in the western leather hat told us. 'They hunt for tourists. I know the gang well. Believe me, they are rarely sober', he continued and seemed to be in good mood towards us.

In fact, we were not tourists. We were a couple with two dogs from the nearby village and came to see the ruins of the abbey on a Sunday evening. The countryside where the abbey stood was a former mining area, the pits hadn't been in use for ages but have caused a lot of accidents falling in.
When the pits were created, nobody thought forward to preserve nature or even to keep workers safe. Because it was a communist era? Too much things here are explained with former dictatorship. The dictatorship ended in my country more than 20 years ago, and we are still the Balkans, in an unpleasant mean.

'Especially not with dogs,' the rough-looking man continued. 'They hate dogs, they shoot them even when the owner stands beside them. And they have the power to do, they are the men of the law.'

Our two dogs were on their leads by now, sniffing around the ancient stones of the abbey, and in this weird situation I even had a slight though of preventing the male one from signing the corner stones of the church. The man was not dangerous but at least he was bizarre, and I were embarrassed.