cultural experiences
lliams
ne Wi
Aria
MAK17
At the edge of the woods, we navigated chest-high patch of greenery. Although I was wearing long pants, I felt a
sharp sting on my calf. Then another and another.
“Something is hurting me,” I said.
“Nettles,” said Stojan, and forged ahead to beat them aside with his umbrella.
“They stung me through my pants,” I said, aggrieved.
“They’re good for the blood,” said Stojan. “As tea.”
Massive, magnificent trees with smooth pale bark grew low on the
mountainside. I marveled.
“Бука,” said Stojan. Beech, I found out later. “With them, people
make—“ “Tea?” “Furniture.”
Further up we found other types of trees, most of which I could not
identify by name if my life depended on it,