Sunday, July 27, 2014

Hair of the Monkey

After a long, late night of clubbing on a barge in the rain on the River Sava, I woke up with an opice, what the Czechs refer to as a "monkey."  Dunno what the Serbs call it but it was something fierce.

I needed something to stick to the ribs, so I headed to Kavarna ?, a traditional Serbian restaurant for some local fare.  I picked up some cheap shades-- a lil sombro to save the day.

Me: what do you have to cure what ails me?

Waiter:  We have rakije, and I would recommend some dunjevka (quince brandy) for you.

Hair of the monkey indeed.

Belgrade is one of my favorite cities in the world, and that is not a compliment I take or make lightly.

I had a filet mignon cooked medium rare.  A Serbian salad of onions, tomatoes and cucumbers.  Some warm homemade bread.

I gave the final hunk of steak wrapped in bread soaked in mignon juices to a Gypsy kid.  His eyes widened as he ran off with the steak sandwich.

I chatted with some French girls next to me who were living in Budapest.  They had hitchhiked to Belgrade.  We chatted about what I did.

You live the life.

I hear that from time to time.  I always respond simply that I live my life.  That I figure I have one life to live, so I might as well live it.  Not that I really believe we only have one life, but that is a different story.

On the way, I sat in the sun next to the old Ottoman fountain.  I chatted with the Serbian girl Ana who worked at the hotel.  She was on her way to start her shift.

You are so lucky.

Luck is not something you wait for; you have to grab luck by its throat.  She grabbed mine, and I laughed.  Generally you rub a Buddha's head, not grab his throat.

Enough of this banter, I'm off to go nap in the gardens of an old Ottoman fortress that overlooks the two rivers that hung Belgrade.

1 comment:

Abba said...

"Before I was a baby...."