9:57
I’ve made it to Central Station. There are no tickets to Budapest. My best chance is Novi Sad, a town about 2 hours north of Beograd. Perhaps there, I can get a train to Budapest tonight, although it might be a good idea to spend the night in Novi Sad. I prefer morning trains, one gets to enjoy landscapes only the railway can show you.
I hardly slept last night at the pension. People kept coming in and out the room, turning the light on, snoring, talking in their sleep and fooling around with zippers and Velcros.
This morning I rose from my nightmares again. I was relieved to be awake. It didn’t take me long to rise from bed, as I didn’t want to fall into darkness again. I got dressed in silence. Everything was prepared last night so I wouldn’t bother the others in their dreams. Sometimes I am very considerate, others I’m not. Today I was.
I improvised a Turkish coffee and lit a cigarette in the balcon as I’d done the previous days. The sky was grey. The air cold and damp. Vladin was sleeping in his mezzaninene bed above the pension ‘office’. This was his life for the past five years. He was still in a good mood most of the time, and was very friendly, kind, and hard working. Qualities to admire, qualities I struggle to keep. His job is endless. His job is his life and life his job.
Vladins phone alarm rings. It plays a punk version of ‘Monkey Man’ from Toots and the Mytals. He doesn’t move. It rings again and again, but the kind giant doesn’t move.
As the train leaves Belgrade the poverty of Serbia becomes evident again. Cities in Serbia seem to have a micro economy. I think about the photos I could have done in those slums but I find nothing out of the ordinary in the. They are not worth the film. They just seem like any other slum. One gets used to the worst so easily. What once was fascinating today is ordinary.
10:42
The train is now on the country side. As I stare blindly out the window, my eyes focus on the rail tracks. I think about how they are constructed. Stones, wood and iron rails guide hundreds of trains every year. I pay close attention to the sleeping wood. Oh! What I’d give to walk on them again. What would I give? I remember the feeling, I remember the uneven step which took me from one to the next, and to the next and to the next. What a feeling! So much m. No, real freedom. Freedom. Balancing on the rails, jumping, running, stopping. A freedom which would last forever, but hasn’t. I can feel it now, in my memory, in my mind. Today, I discover I will always have this freedom. Today and always I will be free in my mind. I smile, and stare out again.
13:30
Disappointment arrived as the train arrived at Novi Sad. I was expecting it. It was not the small town I had in my mind. But I knew it wasn’t. I let this happen, I looked for it.
As the train slowed down I spotted a few houses with small land where they grew their crops. It looked like a good place to ask for a bed, or a barn. I was looking for that freedom the rail tracks had awakened.
Before leaving the station I got a ticket to Budapest.
I walked by the railway, not on it, with hopes of freedom. To the other side, stood low budget buildings. Ahead of me, by the rails, behind the trees, was a farmhouse with a broken wooden door. The patio inside was surrounded by the railway and small drunken houses of various colours. Pink, green and turquoise. A man carried things out of one of them. He greeted me and I told him what I was looking for. No, I didn’t say freedom. ‘Here no’ he said. I couldn’t convince him.
I took a small street out of the main one and then a side street that ended on the rails. By a house, on the street, a woman worked the dirt with her shovel. She planted tulips. ‘Dobra’, I said timidly but she didn’t look at me, and kept working the dirt with her shovel in a circular motion. ‘Dobra’ I repeated pathetically; it is my only Serbian word. Now I had her impatient attention. I pointed at myself, then the dirt, made a dribbling sign and then a sleeping one. For every sign I used a word. I, work, for, sleep. ‘Ne, ne’ she mumbled and went back to her duties waving me away. There was not much point to continue the search. I was tired and people from big towns are too. If something doesn’t work for me on the first of second try I try something different.
I headed downtown and found a pension.
18:50
I sit in the kitchen sipping a coffee, smoking and writing. The last one has become my newest habit. A healthier one. I must be on the right track. The furniture is pleasant and everything matches beautifully. The plastic table cloth where my coffee dances in the much, to the rhythm of my writing is mellow beige and washed red. My back is against the wall. Across me, the kitchen furniture resembles the style of the 70′s. Dark wood imitation. Everything on it is spotless clean and in order. The wall has grey tiles for the lower part. The top part and the ceiling is painted apple green.
Next to me sits a woman who’s name I do not know. We talked briefly, the usual. She is the wife of the owners friend. I believe her and her husband live here at the moment. She helps with the cleaning of the place. She does an excellent job. The owners wife is in the end of her 30′s. Tall, blond, thick lip, tight jeans. She keeps well. The woman next to me has a narrow face, big nose, and blue eyes matching her hair which is held up by a broche. She drinks coffee and smokes nervously one cigarette after the other. Her eyes are very tired, maybe even sad. I feel that any moment now she will scream, rip off her hair with both hands and think about jumping out the window. What use would that be, she’d think, it’s only a first floor jump. As she thinks this she would sit down again and sob. I would try to comfort her until her husband would rise from his nap and come to hold her. He know’s the drill.
Her husband, the owners friend is a funny man. He speaks to me in a language which I’ve never heard but understand. Part Serbian, Italian, English and Spanish. Well, all I understood was ‘football’, players names, Barcelona, and ‘Balkan Bet’. This last one is a sports betting chain to be found everywhere in the Balkans.
The owner is in his 40′s. Handsome man I suppose, but can’t really say. He speaks good Italian and has forgotten some of his English and Spanish.
My attention is focused on the woman next to me. She talks with some of the guests with a broken voice. I wish I knew what disturbed her. Her husband is now up and in the kitchen. I catch her smiling. Only now I notice two lighters one the table. They have the ‘Balkan Bet’ logo printed on them.
He grabs his bread and pathe and lays it on the table. As it is a small table, I get my things and head for the living room. That’s where it all starts. They ask me to sit down and she gets up. They are discussing. Between the lines I hear ‘Fuck off’. ‘Fuck off’. ‘Fuck off’. Tension rises. She leaves the room. He follows her. I put my notebook away.
Stephen Shore - Uncommon Places
I guess you’ve moved on now but Novi Sad is an excellent place. I had a great time there last year although it wasn’t really traveling.