do I really miss Belgrade?
do I miss the illiterate shouting across the counter 'heyneighborhowcanIhelpyou' that made my skin crawl every time, the skin contaminated with heritage of different communal interaction patterns - where first of all shouting in public, and second of all calling anyone 'neighbor' (your next door neighbors included) never happened?
do I miss being verbally smacked for making the same mistake over and over again - addressing the person above me in position /age/social role with plural V-form and failing to make use of the default first-name-basis protocol that I never felt comfortable with in the first place?
do I miss not being able to find my way from Slavija to Terazije square on foot and crying my guts out over it after a couple of years of living there?
do I miss the streets too high , do I miss the people too loud, do I miss the sound that never ceases, do I miss the creative art of potholes and fucked up afternoon traffic jams?
yes.
I miss the force of life you can smell in the air just being there, in your home being alone but knowing that your odds at having someone drop by unexpected are way better than betting on announced visitor to ever make it, in the street and its endless rows of overpopulated cafes, in the mismatched rooftops and the way the dawn breaks on them when you approach the city from across the river, in the faces of people all going someplace, and in me the way I was then.
I smell no spring and it's almost May, the door is bolted, cafes back on Dohány street suck as much as the coffee that they serve, the rooftops are neat and my next door neighbor is made of stone, I rarely venture across the river, people drag their feet when they walk - even when they are walking real fast, and I am not getting enough sleep these days.
And it's too fuckin' silent. Except for the sirens. Who needs them at 3 AM when Rákóczi is empty for god's sake?
Belgrade is not Budapest. And 'this' Budapest is most definitely not 'that' Belgrade.
two capitalized extremes of the cultures that shaped and got me to be stuck with missing what is not there in each of them.
time to pack.
(or perhaps time to lay off the Tokaji Furmint, make some tea and try to go to bed)
do I miss the illiterate shouting across the counter 'heyneighborhowcanIhelpyou' that made my skin crawl every time, the skin contaminated with heritage of different communal interaction patterns - where first of all shouting in public, and second of all calling anyone 'neighbor' (your next door neighbors included) never happened?
do I miss being verbally smacked for making the same mistake over and over again - addressing the person above me in position /age/social role with plural V-form and failing to make use of the default first-name-basis protocol that I never felt comfortable with in the first place?
do I miss not being able to find my way from Slavija to Terazije square on foot and crying my guts out over it after a couple of years of living there?
do I miss the streets too high , do I miss the people too loud, do I miss the sound that never ceases, do I miss the creative art of potholes and fucked up afternoon traffic jams?
yes.
I miss the force of life you can smell in the air just being there, in your home being alone but knowing that your odds at having someone drop by unexpected are way better than betting on announced visitor to ever make it, in the street and its endless rows of overpopulated cafes, in the mismatched rooftops and the way the dawn breaks on them when you approach the city from across the river, in the faces of people all going someplace, and in me the way I was then.
I smell no spring and it's almost May, the door is bolted, cafes back on Dohány street suck as much as the coffee that they serve, the rooftops are neat and my next door neighbor is made of stone, I rarely venture across the river, people drag their feet when they walk - even when they are walking real fast, and I am not getting enough sleep these days.
And it's too fuckin' silent. Except for the sirens. Who needs them at 3 AM when Rákóczi is empty for god's sake?
Belgrade is not Budapest. And 'this' Budapest is most definitely not 'that' Belgrade.
two capitalized extremes of the cultures that shaped and got me to be stuck with missing what is not there in each of them.
time to pack.
(or perhaps time to lay off the Tokaji Furmint, make some tea and try to go to bed)
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