Death or growth?

Today is Kurban Bajram (I'm not going to give pronunciations, because noone every pays attention to them), a muslim holiday. And, since the people of Kosova are nominally muslim, they celebrate it, and we go visit them all, which is a whole other story in itself, but I'll save that one for later. Because my experience shopping the day before Kurban Bajram is still fresh in my memory. I decided to go without Dan and Judah to the store since, it was naptime for Judah, and Dan didn't want to go (Thanks, Babe!). I don't go to the city by myself very often, because it is very out of character for women in this culture to do anything by themselves. And, normally, that would be something that my self-sufficient, Montana-raised, independent, strong, sense of self would scoff at, but in the land of Kosova, it sometimes just more productive to not go against the grain. But, every once in a while, I unconsciously decide that I need a reminder of why things are the way they are.
I jump in the van, and every head turns and questions where I am going, as I buzz out of the village. I'm convinced that inside their heads are thoughts like, "where is Dan?", "Why are you going by yourself?", "What a shameful woman", and, Yes! "Maybe she has another man that she visits." Along the road, I frequently get flagged down, honked at, grinned at, and yelled at by the male drivers of other vehicles. There have been days when they have gone out of their way to get into mine, but yesterday was without these drivers. Then, as you enter the city, traffic in general gets to a point that you would love to just lay on the horn and die there, or, ram into the car in front of you. Stop, go, stop, go, stop, go, where go is only at about 2 km/hr truly is monotonous, but at least it's winter and not 90 degress out (been there, done that, and can't wear that t-shirt because of pit stains)! Finally, though, I get to the turn into the store parking lot. Now, please don't confuse the words "parking lot" with a vision of the lovely land of pretty yellow lines that people normally pay attention to outside of Costco, Wal-mart, Target, K-mart and just about every other store in the United States. Instead, imagine the entire lot where that the corner gas station sits on, and you are probably just about right. But, there are as many people as at all the aforementioned stores! Our van is much bigger than the average car running around the streets of Kosova, and it is proved when we try to park it in these insane places. But, I still managed that! I can see this is starting to drag out, and I won't bore you with all of the gritty details like being grossed out by the smell of the freshly cut meat at the meat counter (they deliver real-live moo-ers to the back storage area where they are then cut up and presented for puchase), but skim over the highlights:
1. having a woman with a mean look on her face, with no cart and nothing in her hands, stand in front of my cart and expect me to get out of her way in a tuna can space full of shopping carts; occurrence: twice.
2. my behind touched, unpurposely; occurrence: more time than I remember
3. my cart pulled through cart-jam by a worker (who I almost could have kissed I was so grateful);
occurrence: one time
4. almost crying, literally; occurrence: three times
5. being caught in between a worker's arm and another person's body with only one foot (full of me) in
between them; occurrence: one time
6. having people shove and push me; occurrence: the number escapes me
7. wishing I wasn't so daft as to forget that today was the day before a holiday; occurrence: yep, too high to
count!
but, amazingly, I lived through it. I will remember the next time I go to make sure I am not going on one of the busiest Kosovar shopping days, but, I will even go back. What's the old saying, "what doesn't kill you, makes you grow"?!?!?!?!?!