Tršić: Where the Language Lives
Part One. The Place and the Person
In western Serbia, just six kilometers from the town of Loznica, there is a small village called Tršić. A valley, hills, the Žeravija River, wooden houses scattered across the slopes. At first glance, it is a quiet and rather unremarkable place. And yet, it was here that a man was born in 1787 without whom the Serbian language, as we know it today, simply would not exist.
His name was Vuk Stefanović Karadžić. Vuk means “wolf” in Serbian. The name was chosen deliberately: six children in the family had died before him, and his parents believed that evil spirits would not dare touch a wolf. They were right. Vuk Karadžić lived for 76 years and managed to completely transform the history of his people.
He was the son of peasants, a self-taught scholar, and became physically disabled after an illness in his youth. He left school several times – war and poverty stood in his way. He learned to read and write from the only literate person in the area, who taught him letters by writing them with gunpowder solution on scraps of paper. From such humble beginnings – to becoming a member of the Imperial Academy of Sciences in Saint Petersburg. But that would come later.
The greatest work of his life was his language reform. At the beginning of the 19th century, educated Serbs wrote in a strange mixture of Church Slavonic and Russian, a language ordinary people could not understand. The language of books and the language spoken in everyday life existed in completely different worlds. Vuk changed that. His principle was simple: „Piši kao što govoriš, a čitaj kao što je napisano.“ (Write as you speak, and read as it is written.) He took living, spoken language and made it the foundation of the literary language. He redesigned the Serbian Cyrillic alphabet: removed unnecessary letters and introduced new ones for sounds that do not exist in Russian Cyrillic – Љ, Њ, Џ, Ћ, Ђ. The result was Vuk's alphabet (vukovica) – the Serbian Cyrillic script used today. One sound. One letter. Always.
Everyone opposed him: the Church, the government, and academic circles. His books were banned several times. But Vuk did not give up. His victory came after his death: four years after he passed away, his reforms were officially recognized.
At the same time, he traveled throughout Serbia, Bosnia, and Herzegovina, collecting hundreds of folk songs and stories. His four-volume collection attracted attention throughout Europe. Goethe and the Brothers Grimm admired his work. Pushkin read Serbian folk songs in Prosper Mérimée’s translations and directly referred to Vuk in his notes for Songs of the Western Slavs.
Vuk Karadžić died in 1864 in Vienna, where he had spent much of his life in exile. In 1897, his remains were transferred to Belgrade and buried beside another great Serbian educator and reformer, Dositej Obradović. Today, Vuk’s portrait appears on the Serbian 10-dinar banknote. His face passes through people’s hands every time they pay for a coffee.
Today, Tršić is a protected ethnographic complex under state preservation. Thirty-five traditional wooden buildings are scattered across the hills: cottages, mills, barns, and workshops. Connected by small paths, they have been preserved in an authentic condition, similar to the world described in Vuk’s own writings.
Part Two. How We Got There—and What Happened Along the Way
The birthday of our Serbian language center Slovo is on May 27. To celebrate, we decided to organize a trip to Tršić. A whole group gathered: students and teachers, people from different cities and with different levels of Serbian. We packed our bags and set off.
On the way, we stopped at the Tronoša Monastery, located 15 kilometers from Loznica among forest-covered hills. The monastery has a personal connection with Vuk: as a boy, he learned to read and write there. Built by Serbian King Dragutin, the monastery is known for its tradition of historical chronicles – one of the manuscripts created there is now preserved in the Vienna Museum. On the first floor of the two-story building are a reconstructed monk’s cell belonging to Hieromonk Josif, the author of the Tronoša genealogy, and the Memorial Museum of Vuk Karadžić. We visited the church, stood before the old frescoes – darkened by time, worn smooth by centuries of prayer – and entered the museum, where a staff member shared some of the monastery’s history. The monastery grounds are small but incredibly beautiful and carefully maintained, filled with roses. Today, it is an active women’s monastery.
Near the monastery walls stands a česma – a small chapel with a spring. According to legend, this is where Jug Bogdan and his nine sons stopped before leaving for the Battle of Kosovo. They left. They never returned. But the spring remained. Three streams meet here and form the Tronoša River, giving the monastery its name. The water is cold and clear, with that unique taste found only in forest springs. Interestingly, this water is not only collected by visitors – it is also bottled commercially right beside the monastery. The spring is called „Devet Jugovića“ (The Nine Jugović Brothers) in honor of the legendary sons. Tronoša water is soft and lightly mineralized and is sold throughout Serbia.
In Tršić, we settled into traditional wooden houses overlooking the hills – places where you would happily stay for a week rather than just two days. Then we went exploring.
Our first stop was the Museum of Language and Writing (Muzej jezika i pisma). There we encountered the gusle – a traditional one-stringed Serbian bowed instrument. Everyone who wanted could try to produce at least some sound from it. The results varied. Some were even surprisingly musical. Here we also learned just how extensive Vuk Karadžić’s international connections were: Goethe, the Brothers Grimm, Adam Mickiewicz. This man corresponded with some of the greatest figures of European literature. It changes your understanding of his importance.
Next, our guide took us to the saborište – a traditional gathering place, an open-air amphitheater with a stage. Let me explain. Every September, this is where the Vuk’s Assembly (Vukov sabor) takes place – a festival dedicated to language and culture. For several days, there are concerts, theater performances, meetings with writers, linguists, and publishers. The central event is the presentation of the Vuk Award, given for outstanding contributions to Serbian language and literature. And it all happens here – on a hillside with wooden benches, next to a small wooden church. The first Vuk’s Assembly in Tršić was held in 1933, and the tradition continues to this day.
Right there on the meadow, our teachers – Natalia Jevtović and Ivanna Stevanović – organized translation workshops. Natalia invited us to explore Old Church Slavonic and dive into history. Ivana prepared a modern language challenge on a fascinating topic: the arrival of potatoes in Serbia. We began analyzing and translating. Our teachers truly made our brains work. It was fascinating to explore language in a place like this.
Then came lunchtime – and this is where Ljubica Mišić, the hostess of one of our guest houses, took charge. First, we explored her garden, admired the rows of potatoes already growing strongly, and learned about local challenges: Ljubica told us that roe deer often come and destroy her plants. Then, right in her own kitchen, she gave us a cooking workshop. We learned how to make proja (traditional corn bread) and kiflice (small crescent-shaped rolls) with domaći sir (homemade cheese). The dough. The smell coming from the oven. Wonderful. Those who preferred not to stand around the table went to the weaving loom and tried ćilimarstvo – the traditional art of carpet weaving. Under the careful guidance of Vesna Grujić, the most determined participants created their own small ćilimi (woven rugs).
That evening was our Slovo birthday party. Roštilj (barbecue). Rakija (traditional Balkan fruit brandy). Kolo (the Serbian circle dance). We celebrated the way people do in Serbia: with fire, enormous amounts of food, and dancing in a circle. Kolo is the kind of dance where you don’t know the steps yet – but you are already dancing because people are holding your hands on both sides and everything somehow works. Everyone relaxed. The boundaries between students and teachers disappeared. What remained was warm conversation, friendship, and a shared desire to understand one another.
The second morning began with a shared breakfast and conversations about what everyone had heard at dawn. Everyone heard birds. Many heard roosters. But several people discovered they had heard something much more unusual: a fox. A real, live fox. The countryside wakes you up in ways the city never can.
Next came a wool-felting workshop led by Slavica Stošić and her colleagues. Everyone participated. The finished works were displayed as a small exhibition. The absolute star was a portrait of Vuk Karadžić made entirely from wool – it looked remarkably close to the original.
Meanwhile, our students learned the Serbian card game tablić and became so absorbed that they played for almost half a day.
Before visiting Vuk’s house, those interested attended a lecture by Katarina Kuč about Ottoman-Balkan architectural style. After that, the wooden buildings around us no longer looked like simple old houses – we understood their meaning and history. And now knowing what to look for, we walked toward the home of Vuk Karadžić.
The Memorial House of Vuk Karadžić is the central object of the entire Tršić complex. It is a small wooden house – the kind that would have belonged to a 19th-century peasant family in western Serbia. Inside, everyday life has been recreated: simple furniture, household objects, no unnecessary museum decoration. The house was rebuilt after being completely destroyed, but in exactly the same location. The key to reconstruction was the ognjište (the household hearth), which was discovered first. Using it as a reference point, the entire house was restored. Our guide explained not only the history of the house and surrounding buildings but also answered all of our difficult questions.
And with that, our second day came to an end. We returned to Belgrade no longer as strangers traveling together, but as people who had become connected.
Part Three. Why Does All This Matter?
Thank you, Slovo, for this trip. And I say this without any polite obligation.
During those two days in Tršić, people who had previously only seen each other once a week – through a screen or in a classroom – continued their conversations with gusle in their hands, around a shared table, and in the same dance circle. It was a natural continuation of learning at Slovo. Some participants have lived in Serbia for four years and are studying at B1 level. Others arrived only four months ago and are still learning the alphabet. But we truly got to know each other. We talked. We shared our stories. It was wonderful to spend time with our teachers outside the classroom and discover that special Serbian character that cannot be found in any textbook.
Speaking of Serbian character and hospitality – the amount of food was incredible. We ate for two days and still couldn’t finish everything. And the gibanica (traditional layered cheese pie) baked for the celebration by the mother of the school director, Dijana, was simply magical!
Slovo does not only teach grammar. It teaches us to understand where the language came from, who shaped it, and why it became what it is today. Vuk Stefanović Karadžić is not just a name in a textbook. He is the person without whom we would literally be writing with different letters. These are the lessons that create true immersion. And Slovo understands this better than many.
Every Serbian child visits Tršić growing up. It is a traditional school excursion, and childhood somehow feels incomplete without it. Our school followed that tradition. Which means that now, we too, have become a little bit part of it. It may seem like a small thing – but these small things are exactly what create the feeling that you are not a guest in this country, but someone who belongs. Language opens the door. Culture invites you inside.
Hvala, Slovo. Until the next journey.
Elena Titova Student at Slovo
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