A long walk in Novi Beograd and Zemun

This Sunday, N. was my company during a long walk in Novi Beograd and Zemun.

”Nice sixties architecture!” said I, when I saw Palata Srbija.
”Terrible!” said N.
Still we had a great time together. Here in Serbia, you see my Swedish friends, it’s ok to disagree and still be friends. Actually, here people become curious and engaged—not embarrassed and confused—when they have different opinions.

Classy Tito era architecture puts a smile on my face.
Classy Tito era architecture puts a smile on my face. N. prefers traditional style.

We walked on, saw the peculiar ghost ships on the bank of Danube, the summer fresh greenery and the strolling families while talking about all things Serbian. Our turning point was the Gardoš Tower on the top of a hill in Zemun.

During history, Zemun has been an outpost of the Habsburg empire. Here, the shelling of Belgrade started on July 28 1914.
During history, Zemun has been an outpost of the Habsburg empire. Here, the shelling of Belgrade started on July 28 1914.

The Serbian speciality of the day was a Balkan crêpe – a palačinka from Palacinkarnica Pinokio. Another demonstration of Serbia as the number one streetfood country in Europe.

 

At Slava in beautiful Šumadija

This very special day, the overwhelmingly generous family D. had invited me as a guest to their Slava.

So me and A. took the tram to Banovo Brdo and from there we travelled by car together with his family members: from the concrete of Tito era Belgrade …

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… to the lovely hills of Šumadija.

– ”the best part of Serbia” according to my hosts.
Šumadija—”the best part of Serbia” according to my hosts.

Now, there was a small problem: I am a teetotal. And a Serbian slava without rakija is simply not a slava. What should be done about it? Well, A. had a very simple solution: he poured me a glass …

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The best rakija is family produced.

… and although I am a man of principles, it was not hard to make an exception; what happens in Serbia stays in Serbia.

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Not bad. Almost quoting Swedish king Karl XII: “Detta skall hädanefter bliva min musik”.

When the freelancing roma musicians came by, I felt like I was in a Kusturica movie. I googled frantically for the lyrics of the songs I heard, but the only one I managed to catch was the one about Danube. A very interesting conversation ensued about the words of the refrain which is ”Dunave, Dunave” – a vocative form of the river’s name Dunav as the narrator of the song speaks to the river. (Please correct me if I have got Serbian grammar all wrong.)

Dunave, Dunave
kraj tebe mi srce moje ostade
Dunave, Dunave
kraj tebe mi srce ostade

Dunave, Dunave
by thee my heart I stayed
Dunave, Dunave
by thee my heart remained

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The guy to the right wore the full monty: a suit in forties style, pointy shoes and a glimmering gold tooth.
A starry sky of daisies.
A starry chlorophyll sky of daisies.

The spring greenery of Zvezdara forest

Time to lift my heavy bottom from the chair to get some exercise! I looked at the map and decided to aim for a little forest called Zvezdara. It was uphill, uphill from Mise Vujica and along Dragoslava Srejovića I got the feeling that I left the cramped urban landscape behind for more elbow room and an open sky. The forest was a spring explosion in green of juicy, transparent foliage and the exhilarated song of horny birds. All the litter on the paths and in the shrubs made me sad, though.

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Passing Omladinski Stadium.

 

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On my balcony after my homecoming. Warm and nice in the light rain.

(Blogged from notes 2014-04-18)

Three Belgrade scenes

Very rough and very ad lib.

1.

A man walks with a slim, light brown dog in a leash along Bulevar despota Stefana. When he crosses Vojvode Dobrnjca he notes that he no longer has only one, but two dogs. This one is sturdy and dark brown, but it seems friendly enough so he moves on. After passing Palmoticeva he has three dogs, and after Džordža Vašingtona four – one white and one black. When he reaches the National Theatre he has a whole pack of eager, barking dogs. One by one, the dogs break free from their leashes and start running across the Republic Square, over the ridge, down the bloodsoaked slopes of Belgrade where the houses evaporate and turn into morning mist over fields of flowers growing from the decaying warriors in the soil: Serbs, Illyrians, Romans, Turks, Greeks, Hungarians, Germans, Huns, Goths, Bulgarians, Celts. And the dogs keep running over the brinks of the Danube, the plains of Vojvodina and the hills of Šumadija.

2.

A man drives his Yugo from Zastava up Takovska. It is eight o’clock in the evening but he seems to be all alone. This puzzles him so he steps out of the car. The street is more than thirty meters wide, but the vegetation from the Botanic Garden is creeping at his feet like a green froth. As his unexpected solitude makes him more bewildered than anxious, he steps into car and drives on. Soon enough, he notices that the houses are stepping out into the street without looking, and as the TV building suddenly falls infront of his vehicle he takes a sharp left turn into a street which he doesn’t know and which wasn’t there before. He stops to read the road signs. They say ”A sad princess who spent much time travelling” and ”A weary partisan who loved hearing the cowbells from the valley”. He drives on, goes down ”The duke that hesitated and regretted” and tries to find his way out this maze by following ”A man of many virtues who wrote many stories”. Finally, his Yugo comes to a stop as the front is squashed between two houses who stretch out their balconys to hug. The street signs in the corner says ”A man who lit his pipe and tried to make sense out of it all” and ”A woman who hid among her books”.

3.

A woman walks down Kneza Mihaila and the heels of her shoes are slowly growing higher and higher. When she crosses over to reach Vase Čarapića she overlooks the heads of her countrymen and the roofs of the cars, feeling free and agitated as she walks on. Higher, and higher she goes, and soon she can take whole blocks in one stride. When she reaches The National Assembly, she is already far out into space and all she sees where the bottom of her soles are is a pale blue dot and she has a strange sensation of euphoria that says ”nothing really matters” mixed with a deep sadness that whispers ”there must be a way” and a single tear falls from her cheek into the void of space.

April is the kindest month

T.S. Eliot claimed that April was the cruelest month, but as I watch the façades of the Belgrade buildings I realise that I—being a very heat-sensitive person—was lucky to be here during spring. On the houses here, air conditioning units are clinging like the many breasts on the chest of Artemis.

Artemis fra Efesos
By Gunnar Bach Pedersen [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
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Aircondition units everywhere, making life in Belgrade possible during the summer heat when the temperature sometimes reaches 35–40 degrees.

(Blogged from notes 2014-04-18)

Work, work …

So, I really have a nice place to work here on Mise Vujica 7: space, light, solitude, silence.

No local things that disturb my concentration, but through the email distractions keep pouring in which remind me that I have a personal and professional life in Sweden as well. I counted 37 outgoing emails with different subjects this day.

Where was I … oh yeah, I am a Writer in Residence …!

At Idiot Bar by the Botanic Garden

Halleluja, jag är frisk igen! (‘Halleluja, I am well again!’) sang the Swedish singer-songwriter Cornelis Vreeswijk once. (If you think that is an odd Swedish name, it is; Cornelis was Dutch but became a renewer of the Swedish song craft.) This title comes to mind every time I lay off the burden of a bad cold or a lumbago. It’s ok to be in Serbia in the spring feeling sick, but it sure is great being here healthy and strong! And that is how I finally feel after a lazy weekend.

Friday was sunny and lovely, and I had two great meetings. Then I decided to let Saturday be my resting day. A thunderstorm drew in over Belgrade, and the rain soaked the streets. It was nice sitting on the balcony and just watch the powers of nature rage across the urban landscape, and finally see how the rays of the sun broke through and painted the facades of the worn down Tito-era houses with a golden hue.

Today I constructed a standing desk from a tall table and some other stuff. After a while, I felt the need to have some people around me so I decided to go to some place with wifi and work. Eventually, I ended up at a place which bears a name which has attracted me since I first stumbled upon it in a Belgrade Guide: Idiot Bar.

Du kan kalla mig för idiot.
Det har jag ingenting emot.
Jag är en idot.

You can call me an idiot.
It doesn’t bother me.
I am an idot.

(Bob Hund: Mer än så kan ingen bli)

I sat there browsing through the pages of a manuscript which has turned its back at me for a long time. But now it seemed ready to start a negotiation regarding its finalization.

Yes, for a moment, it even smiled at me.

A birch grove outside Hala Pionir—like a Sweden in miniature.
A birch grove outside Hala Pionir—like a Sweden in miniature.

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