I woke up at 10, had a quick wash and quietly walked downstairs. The friend was sleeping on the couch next to table-fill of beer bottles and cigarette butts. I circled the flat for a brief five minutes and came near him whispering ‘hello, hello.’ He didn’t hear and sat down on the chair on the other side of the table, waiting for him to wake up. I took out my guidebook and tried to read, if not it would look awkward when he opened his eyes and saw a stranger staring at his face praying for him to wake up. It wasn’t my fixation that rattled him up.
Belgrade was still deep in its sleep. Except for a handful convenient shops opened for the early birds and night workers, everything was kept shut behind closed doors. I spotted a few figures crossing empty streets hurrying off from out of nowhere to perhaps somewhere. It was a new feeling to arrive in strange city in the dark, in a stranger’s car and run off to another stranger’s home. “So Cindy, do you have a plan?” I hesitated unable to answer the question, not exactly because I had no plan.
I never cut my hair while traveling, but I did so in Belgrade. Why? Maybe so I could be in a closed environment with Serbs?
Psychologically, you cannot say anything bad about the person who tries to make you beautiful. I sat five meters across from Jelena’s former boss who had returned to work after recovering from an apparently terminal illness only to find she was now reporting to a former subordinate who was less qualified. Now she looked forward to her early retirement. While walking about the city, Jelena mentioned an invitation from a cousin whom she had not seen in a long time and wondered if I would not mind going there with her so she could spend time with both of us. I didn’t want to appear over-zealous, but secretly I wished Jelena would take the cousin up on the offer and take me there with her right then.
Belgrade is the ugliest city…I arrived in Belgrade with no map and plan, so I left it up to this Serbian friend whom I met accidentally in Andorra. How many people travel to Andorra for just one day and rush back for their flights on the next day? How many of them end up staying with the same host? How many will return to Spain on the same bus? How many will then flight at the same airport? How many will fly on the same morning requiring an overnight sleeping on the same bench? And how many are the exact people you are trying to meet? That was how I met Jelena.
Belgrade is an ugly city…Jelena dragged me here and there which I had not the slightest idea where in Belgrade, which I found to be big, ugly, dirty, gray and polluted. I stealthily looked at almost every Serb who crossed my path to find something, something to explain the reason for my disdain.
No matter how hard I looked, I could not discover anything new, and yet I kept recalling old memories. Hearing the familiar Bosnian/Croatian/Serbian/Serbo-Croatian language made me deliriously happy. The Croats, Bosniaks, and the Serbs speak as if they are singing. When I hear them talk, I feel I can see a river flow. Everybody from old to young, from the capital to the countryside speak loud and clear as how a language should be spoken, especially for a foreigner because you are assured that if you try hard enough, someday you will understand. I looked at men, women, at the way they looked and dressed and turned to Jelena. “You are no different from the Bosniaks in Sarajevo.” “No, we don’t.” She replied.
“Life is what happens when you are making other plans.” – John Lennon
Do you plan your life to the minute details of how it should be? Most Americans will tell you yes, thanks to all those bargain-on-the-shelf, flying-off-the-chart pop psychology, self-development books like how to organizing your life in 30 minutes, life skills for dummies, etc. and etc. Your school counselors grill you about your life plan: how do you imagine your life five or ten years from now? Heck! Job interviewers interrogate you about your professional outlook to know what you see yourself doing before letting you dig into their 401K. A former boyfriend of my high-school friend told her the age marks when he would buy his first car, mortgage his first house, get a wife.
Remark: The deadline for this year has passed. If you are interested or know those who do, please pass on this information. The deadline should be sometime in June.
My name is Cindy, also rhymes with travel junkie. A friend said I was probably a gipsy in my previous life. One of my many secret missions in life is to convert you to run off every once in awhile.
