For Whom the Belgrade Tolls

If cities were booty calls, I’d have Belgrade on voice-activated speed dial.  The number of times I have rolled into Belgrade at some outrageously inappropriate hour, only to leave before, or just as, the sun is coming up is well beyond inappropriate.  I never spend the night, just kind of position myself on the steps of the train station and catch a few hours of sleep before someone angrily brushes me away (usually an old lady, with a brush) and I have to run to catch my train, always promising vacantly that I'll be back soon and we'll one day be together, forever.  I'm sorry, Belgrade, it's not you; I just can't be tamed.  Can't be tamed, can't be blamed.

Belgrade is a sight to behold.  Belgrade is a magical Xanadu poised high above the cliffs taunting the established states of the North.  Belgrade is a cruel mistress with a smoker's cough who leaves ashes in your bed, and tears on your pillow.  Belgrade is everything I have ever wanted.  If you've never been, you need to stop wasting your life and somehow get there right now.  The rich, exotic aroma of the diesel exhaust of trucks ploughing through the centre of the city while you sip your coffee over a cherry pastry will make you fall in love all over again.

I decided to stay at the hostel across from the train station and spend at least two days in the city to get a better sense of it than what I previously had.  I went to sleep immediately and rose early the next morning to head to the Gypsy market in Novi Belgrade, where I revelled in tripping over broken concrete and patches of mud to find the latest trinkets.  One of these was a meat grinder, which I greedily snatched up for the low price of 3euros*.  Then I went back into the city and enjoyed all the cafe culture had to offer, which is an immense amount of culture.  Could you imagine being a revolutionary in the early 1900s in a smokey cafe in Belgrade?  What a dream come true. 

I regret nothing about being in Belgrade.  I would do it all again**.  There was a really cool art gallery opening near the castle that I walked past (repeatedly until I felt it was safe to kind of saunter in and grab some free wine.  I was wearing plaid so it was acceptable) and I realized that Belgrade was on the cusp of being so much better than you or I could either imagine, or even be.  I also went to the smokiest of smoky bars to eat delicious cevapi and raw onions, washed down with beer from Nis and accompanied by a raspy singer whose cigarette stained melodies still ring in my ears.  

*Though, let's be honest: who got the better deal?  Me, who bought this meat grinder, or the seller, who neglected to inform me it was missing the blade and therefore was useless, and who pocketed the 3 euros even more greedily. 

**Some might argue I did.  16 times.  If you know anyone else who has been to Belgrade as many times as I have please pass on my contact details.  We have so much to discuss.