Belgrade, Serbia

Its difficult to overstate how relieved I was to leave Bosnia. Maybe it was just the extremely low level of comfort I felt staying in that apartment, but for whatever reason, the first roll of the bus tires was highly anticipated. It didn't take long for me to pull out my iPod and inflatable pillow and spend the next couple hours taking in the scenery through intermittent bouts of unconsciousness. After a short passport check at the Bosnian side of the border, and then again on the Serbian side, we worked our way through the noticably nicer towns of Serbia to the capital, Belgrade.

Belgrade is a big city, and much more modern than I expected (but don't get me wrong, this is no Dubai). There is an old part of town, similar to any old European city but topped off with a giant citadel that stands as a testament to Serbia's turbulent history. Across the Danube is Novo Beograd with aging high rises and a few more modern buildings. The roads leading to the citadel are known locally as "Silicon Valley" and are a congregating point for artificially enhanced Serbian girls in search of a mate.

In the park leading to the citadel, I bought a genuine candied apple. I was probably a little more excited about it than was justified - and I have pictures to prove it. I also enjoyed my first popcorn in over a month (I know, its been torture). I bought a bag of it from a gipsy woman in the park. There are lots of gipsies here. A small group of them was playing traditional music in the park. I had pizza again for dinner. I had aimed to find some traditional Serbian food, but the task proved too taxing and I caved to the prospects of immediate gratification. The pizza here is good though...I might even say its better than the pizza in Rome and Tuscany.

After dinner, I began my lengthy and indescribably frustrating trek back to the hostel. There are three things every traveler should know about Belgrade: First, there are almost no street signs; second, all the maps are in the latin alphabet; third, what few street signs that do exist are exclusively in the cryllic alphabet. Working one's way through the maze that is Belgrade is a lengthy and arduous guessing game made easier only by a few landmarks and the occasional two-word street name (two words in the latin alphabet is also, apparently, two words in the cryllic alphabet). And thank heaven for the street named after the 29th of November. Numbers are apparently the same, too.

I arrived back at the hostel later than I'd hoped, but thankfully, its in the embassy part of town, so there were no shortage of security guards in the buildings lining my dark walk home. Back at the hostel I used a washing machine for the first time in over a month. Before you get grossed out, recognize that I have done laundry in sinks throughout Europe. Still, having almost all of my clothes clean simultaneously is a feeling that won't be soon forgotten.

I stayed up for an hour or so talking to the night staffer, a 38 year-old man from Kosovo who spent the war biking frantically throughout town in search of diapers and baby food for his young son while NATO bombs rained down on the city. His perspectives on the war were very interesting. And the Serbian take on the war is hugely different from that of the Bosnians. Just down the street, two huge military buildings rise as a bombed out testament to the damage rendered by NATO during the war. Its interesting to look at those buildings and know that it was American and British munitions that did the damage. Its also interesting to know that all the young people I meet retain in vivid memory those years. Its one thing to see on CNN at home that bombs are being dropped on some faraway country. Its another to come here and hang out with the people we were dropping them on. Poignant.