[on a lighter note...]

So, earlier this month, we all had to go to the police headquarters to register our residence in Croatia. No problem, right? Think again. I've come to realize that much of the Croatian bureaucracy functions just like the Catholic University of America: it all depends on who you talk to.

My host mom Branka and I went with Fiona and Alex into the city, where we ran into everyone else and their mother (literally). We waited... and waited... and waited in line. I filled out some form. We waited.

Finally, it's my turn- I turned to Alex and said, "Watch me get denied. I'm gonna get denied. A man is gonna come through those doors and escort me from the building." Low and behold, the officer took one look at my form, stamped it, drew a huge X through it and gave it back to me, telling me to "come back tomorrow." Since it was Groundhog Day, I could totally feel where this was going...

Later that day, Branka went back with a friend and got it all straightened out. A few other people had similar experiences - who knew there were 16 different ways to register with the police??! We talked to Orli about it and she explained that all we needed was Vitamin P (p for prijatelji, meaning friends). Everything depends on connections here.

In addition to each having a different experience at the police, we each got different expiration dates too - my permit ends next Friday, so I'll have to go through all of it again when we get back from Serbia in March. ::groan::