*CoughHACKSplutter*

And so, dear journal, I have contracted an illness. How can you catch a cold when it's 40 degrees plus outside??? A silly question I always asked myself as a kid, and still use with the twisted logic of knowing a ridiculous name. There's nothing cold about a cold at all. Puzzled by my conundrum, I asked my mother, and she gave me a quick look over and sighed.

I hadn't caught a cold. I had snagged some weird virus that was affecting nearly everyone, as the newspapers so nicely pointed out. Groaning, I slapped a cold cloth onto my head and flopped onto the couch, my lungs feeling crushed with every breath I took.

Salmon oil, thyme tea, Bisolvon and propolis tablets are still fueling me as I write this. Madness brought on by an elevator disease, which in the evening and early morning makes it impossible to breathe or relax, and leaves you tired and worn out during the afternoon and day when it releases it's grip on you. But only slightly, ever so enough to make you angry.

I didn't give up, forced vitamin C rich food down, tried my best to sleep, wasted a hefty amount of tissues and sulked over days of lost swim time at the beach. But the illness is weakening, I'm finally winning! I still sniffle and cough and can't breathe, but now I feel a lot better.

Strange how something like being sick even feels different in a foreign country. Maybe factors like the climate and diet have a lot to do with how you recuperate from disease, or how you contract one. You're a lot more likely to get food poisoning due to high temperatures and food possibly going bad than get something like pnuemonia or frostbite in Montenegro.

Waking up and sleeping at odd times is also a part of this cycle, but as a few moments ago I was wide awake, I feel sleepy once more and will drag myself back to bed and try to get some shut eye. The next few days will be hectic, but I know, there are many in the world who have it worse than I do, and so I am thankful for what I do have.

Fields of Green.

I've recently been writing mostly about differences. Differences because we see similarity every single day in our lives when we are situated in a country such as Canada. Writing about the similarities would show no cultural diversity, and seem useless of one to do.

And so, while Canada is a green country, Montenegro in many ways is much more green. Not just economically, but also in the fact that nearly everyone in a non-concrete jungle city has a huge garden or fields and tends to grow a lot of their own food and crops. Even those in apartment buildings have flowers and small potted plants creeping along their windowsills and balconies.

So, with a large house and an even bigger two level yard, we have crops, trees, plants, bushes, and roots galore. The entirety of the land is covered inch by inch of used soil and fertilizer. Olive trees, pomegranate trees, fig trees, palm trees, apricot trees, tangerine trees, orange trees, mandarin trees, peach trees, lemon trees, and cherry trees can be found in the vicinity of my two houses here. Grape vines, watermelons, tomatoes, onions, squash, peppers, string beans, radishes, potatoes, carrots, parsley, and various sorts of green leafy vegetables and cabbages.

The rule here is, if you want to eat it and you can grow it, you should. In fact, most people grow as much as possible of something and then sell large quantiteies of their fresh goods and produce at an outdoor or indoor market called a pijaca (a plaza of sorts, pronounced PEA-YAH-TSUH). Whatever doesn't grow in your garden, you buy from there and continue on with your life. Most grocery stores don't stock produce for this reason, unless they're a green produce store and specify in this field of work.

In fact, you can find anything home made/grown/cultivated at the pijaca. Anything from cheese, milk, milk products, breads and pastries, eggs, fish, ducklings, little chickens, and other meat. While there still is butcher's stores and bakeries, the majority of people's earnings here are from something material to sell that they have aided in the process of creating.

The people are also extremely friendly, and you can easily barter prices, get deals and bargains, buy bulk, sample, and make a lot of new aquaintances and connections. In a way, the experience is a lot more fulfilling than walking to your local Superstore or Save On Foods (or driving, even worse) and picking up a carton of eggs and a pack of carrots with little to no inter-action and no social time whatsoever. I wonder if there's anything like a pijaca in Canada...?

Snip Snip Snip.

Hopefully I haven't scared you off with my perfume ramblings, have I? Nonsense, you're a journal, you don't get scared. I still am delving deeper into the world of perfume, and enjoying every minute of it. It makes me glad to fit in with a world of wonderful choices and superb availability here in Europe. It's perfume paradise.

Anyways, times change. And while some of my tastes remain similar, some sadly like to be sly little foxes and deviate my idea of acceptable. In other words, I got tired of my haircut. So, me and my dear auntie went to the nearby city of Bar after arranging an appointment at a well known salon. Two buses later, we hopped into a quaint looking kitschy place that radiated and oozed warmth and friendy manners.

I wasn't let down in the least. I sat, listing through magazines, wondering what I would decide to chop off, smooth out, and spike. But, as far as I will experiment in the world of scent, my hairstyles are never extreme. So I explained nicely, take two or three inches off the bottom, trim the long bangs in the front just a little bit shorter, but keep the volume. With a concise nod, the hairdresser set to work.

With lavishly washed hair that smelled like peaches and apricots (I adore peaches and apricots), she trimmed with the steadiest and quickest hand I've ever known a person to able to do. She sculpted my wavy, poofy, and yarn like hair into sleek silky shine. It was amazing, watching her work, and I wanted to grovel at her feet and beg to learn her magic touch and techniques. Well, almost.

I left the salon 8 euros and what seemed like a kilogram lighter. I was also feeling radiant and extremely happy, having spritzed on Gucci Envy Me earlier on in the day. And that was true, I envied myself, and I'm sure some of the girls who looked over at my satin locks envied me too. The towns and cities here are much lighter in a way, less polluted from the outside world and yet pristinely informed of what they are in the middle of in.

I wandered around town, looking through boutiques and remembering the times with the satin dress and ridiculous prices of fashionable clothes. Was I ever glad my splurging days were over. I bought a cup of yoghurt and a portion of burek (amazing food that it is, phillo pastry or thinly rolled dough wrapped or layered around fillings, which can be anything from feta cheese, ground meat, mushrooms, spinach, grated potatoes, etc) and rejoiced in the moment.

After half an hour, the heat wave started to progress, and the temperature went from the usual 36 to higher, and my poor temples were starting to feel it. I ducked in the shade as me and my auntie got a ride home from my grandfather, and vowed to explore more of the town the next opportunity I got, to fully be able to write about everything that can be found in it.

So, maybe five back massages later and ten pretty pleases will I be able to saunter off with my aunt and continue my journey through the concrete forests of Bar.

Eau de... Toilet? Wait, that says Toilette. Phew.

Browsing the streets along the beach for bargains and deals is one of the most fun things a girl (or guy, not judging) can do to occupy themselves. Now while there are tons of designer ' inspired ' articles, handmade works of art, paintings, clothes and accessories, there is one market that drives everybody insane.

No, not the questionable films and music market. The fragrance market. In every corner of a reputable shop, you will find a nice and wide selection of fragrances for you to purchase. Perfume in ranges from famous designer label creations to sickly home concotions of lesser known chemists. There's a scent for everyone. Or two. Or three...

I was never a stranger to the world of smell. It has always been one of the deciding factors in whether or not I like or despise something. As a kid I always preferred the option that smelled better, and held my noise when I walked by trash cans. And even though I had terrible allergies, I sniffed every flower and blade of grass marginally possible, explaining my red cheeks and puffy eyes each day.

Back to the shops after a day of beach visits, you take in labels and pictures and shiny embellishments that catch your eye with the promise of appealing. ' Buy mee, you won't regret it, come on one whiff and you're gonna be hooked, I swear! ' And so, package by package called my name as I listed and breezed through boxes and glass vials.

Guerlain, Givenchy, Dior, Chanel, Escada, Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana, the list continued through ages of well known creators. I nodded back and forth, sampling Kenzo and Thierry Mugler and wrinkling my nose at Vera Wang and Nina Ricci. Sweet, sweet, too overpoweringly sticky and sugary. Oh no, don't get me wrong. I like my dose of girly... But not powderpuff cavities, thank you much. I prefer spicy and ambery orientals, bitter or cleaner gourmands, lighter and breezier florals, the odd chypre or subtle musk.

Perfume is a huge hit in trends and fashion, but it also has a huge psychological effect on people and animals. If someone smells bad, you're not going to hang around them for long, are you? Smell is the most primal attraction we have in association with places, people, things, everything around us. So a good fragrance can sometimes be all you need for a trip down memory lane, or a cause for later visits.

And that, dearest journal, is how I became a perfumista. There's people who like perfume, and there's people who absolutely love and adore it. I just so happen to fall into the latter category, and have recently started hunting for information about how fragrances are made and their effects (psychology is a wonderful obsession of mine). How the top, heart, and base notes will play off each other wonderfully in a symphonious depiction almost like music, or will clash like banging metal pans with wooden spoons means the world to people like me. The fun has just started.

Double Trouble.

Hello world! I woke up this morning with a new perspective on my life, probably influenced from last night's binge of herbal teas and late morning novels. As we all know, I'm a bibliophile who lives to flip through the pages of anything paperbound. I seem to have this in common with my grandmother and mother, who both adore literature to the ends of the Earth. And so, I went raiding, raiding the bookshelves.

I found a copy of Ann Frank's diary and a book called Us Kids From The Station Zoo by Christiane F in Serbian, and read them both. It was slightly strange not reading in English as usual, but the books were amazing none the less. While the first is known worldwide and read by everyone, the second is quite non marketed, and that makes me sad. The two girls are both around the same age, though Christiane's struggles are through a longer time period as well as her less fatal outcome, and they both have the same painfully honest and moody temperamental point of view.

In fact, the books themselves have so many similarities between themselves, and are written in such a way that I can agree with the feelings shown and sympathize with the girls, even though I am nowhere near the events happening and will thankfully never see them. Ann Frank's diary was a shocking look into the world of the reign of Hitler, even if she was in Holland. Her Jewish title gets her into a complicated mess, and a life that no one her age should ever deserve.

I was so glad that the hypocrisy of that war was over, and I lived enough of it in Ann's pages of grief, turmoil, and small joys in the cruel captive state she was in. I recommend it to anyone ages 7 to 107, who hasn't read it. Now, Christiane was in a different sort of battle. She was a young girl in Berlin around the time of 1978 who became a drug addict, and fell into the clutches of heroin. Christiane was dragged into it by her social groups, and stayed in it because of her want to be equal with a boy she adored.

Love sucks sometimes, huh Christiane? The book was a emotional rollercoaster through her self discovery and the disgusting truth behind drugs, what people do to get them, and what withdrawal from not just drugs, but everything you have ever known feels like. The two tales had the same underlying themes and made me wonder why some of us were so fortunate and abused our privileges while others had no choice but to suffer and to go through worse times than we will ever know.

The Tide Is High.

Where there is an ocean, there is always somebody swimming in it, even in the Arctic. So in a place with such a hot climate and wonderful shoreline views, obviously the beaches here are crowded and full, at every twist and turn. Even around 6 am and 8 pm, there's always a multitude of people everywhere.

Armed with a beach bag full of towels, water bottles, sunblock, sunglasses and clothing, you start your venture down to the sandy waters. Depending on the wind, or lack of it, the ocean will either be full of waves and warm and probably full of seaweed or cold and still. The best swims are unbelievably in medium temperature and temperament waters, so you don't freeze or die of boredom.

Once down the stairs from the beachside road and stores, you can literally taste the ocean (probably some lady's obnoxious perfume too) and the sand will feel amazing on your skin, barefoot or not. Smart people wear functional easy to undo and put back on clothes and utilize this to their advantage. And then there's some people who decide not to take their clothes off and jump in fully dressed.

If you're anything like me, you don't care so much about what other people will see you as, and focus your time on having as much fun as possible. From running after siblings to swimming to the ferry boat dividend line, there is no time to stop and sunbathe until I'm out of the water for good and drying off. I mean, I tan in the shade with SPF 75, I don't need to concentrate time and effort on something that will happen naturally and shouldn't be forced.

Tired and washed out (no pun intended) I pack up the towels and slip on my clothes, only to trek up a flight of stairs, and either up a steep hill to the ancient car, or walk the 15 minutes back home depending on my disposition. The car, maybe I've informed you of, is a legendary work that my grandfather has had probably since before I was born. It's been through countries and moves and illegal illicit treks of all sorts (which I'm not supposed to know about, but do anyways).

I wish the beaches in Canada, or Vancouver rather, were as fulfilling as the ones here. I suppose I'll have to settle for what we have, but still enjoy fond memories of coastlines and painted skies back in my homeland on the side. After all, everyone is biased in thinking that where they are from is obviously better than somewhere else in the world, a little bit of nationalism and patriotic spirit in everybody. Especially if you're from a place with a gorgeous view and environment, like me. See, there's that silly little bias already. Speaking of beaches, I'm off to one right now. Toodles!

The Sweet Life.

As most people would know, bed time for people my age and around there is 10 pm. While our life stops there, the life on the streets is just getting started. Going out for even a walk by the beach after those hours involves a buddy or a few buddies, top notch clothing, and a clear attitude. Whether you're headed to a nightclub or just a shore line cafe, the rules are the same.

Even individuals far past their teenage years will avoid going out alone, because company, while easily found, is as easily lost. So to ensure safety, comfort, and popularity, groups and flocks are a must. Fashionable clothing in Europe is high quality and high price, so what you wear is essential in your presentation.

After all, in a world where you are judged by one look (possibly more once found intriguing) your appearance is what will allow you to be remembered in a positive way, or leave an impression of disregard and such on other's minds. That leads into attitude, with what kind of air you carry yourself.

Confidence is a must-have accessory everywhere you go, especially during summer. Whether you act cutesy, sultry, charming, aloof, or even crazy, you have to be sure of yourself. My friend Marija, who I ventured outside with, lives in Britain (she comes here to visit her homeland and go on vacation, like I do) and has a lot of experience with how to act and persuade in the night scene.

So, my knack for psychology (it was not flirting, it was psycho-analysis and careful study of human character) and her knowledge of this disco light and cocktail filled universe got us through the hours and minutes where we felt like people weren't staring but instead boring holes into us with their eyes or the moments where we didnt't know what to talk about so instead sipped at our soda water with lemon and quietly nodded in silent agreement.

Maybe, dear journal, I'm writing myself a guide on how to lead and relive my life someday, not just a day to day and thought by thought write up and I don't even know it. Careful memories packed in scraps of paper and flitting thoughts, snatches of music that seem familiar but aren't recalled until something triggers them once again. While life progresses, the lights turn off outside and the ideas start to flow along with the drinks and shining lights.