Blogging from Belgrade

I'm in Belgrade and alive and well. The train was 45 minutes late leaving. Miraculously, it arrived early. Proof that 175 km should not take 5 hours of travel.

Last night, I was going to ask my taxi driver if he could come pick me up at 6:00 am this morning, but I didn't think the hassle of describing what I wanted coupled with the anxiety of me wondering if he would even show up was worth it.

So I called my standby cab this morning. I heard the dispatcher ask over and over again if someone could come pick me up. No one responded. So I called the next number I knew. Same thing happened. I started to panic. It was 6:15 am and my train was leaving at 6:33 am. I ran up the street in hopes that maybe, just maybe there would be a cab at the stand. Nope. I saw an empty cab across the street and dialed that number. By now, I was at the intersection of a major boulevard (still only about 100 metres from my apartment). I was told a cab would be there in two minutes.

So for anyone coming to Timisoara and needing a cab, dial Tudo: 945. I will only be calling Tudo from now on.

I got to the station in plenty of time. Luckily, I remembered from last time where the train was coming in.

Oh, how I miss the simplicity of SNCF. Everything was clearly labeled. I knew which quay to go on. Here, I'm surprised they don't have poster board with the train tracks drawn on. There were electronic signs but they were all out of order or thanking us for something or other.

SNCF is also punctual.

We waited and waited and waited. A lot of the passengers started getting paranoid that the train wouldn't show up or that they were in the wrong spot. It was lightly misting and very damp outside.

"Great, just where I want to be. 6:30 am, at a Romanian train station in the middle of nowhere. It's dark, I can't read the damn signs, I have no idea where the train is. What am I doing here?"

The 15 minutes late turned into 45 minutes, but I got my seat and miraculously, the cabin was warm.

Balkan trains are designed for the maximum amount of discomfort. I had four hours of sleep the night before. All I wanted to do was curl up in my seat and pass out.

Ten minutes into the trip, an agent came around distributing forms for passports. Then to check the tickets. Then someone came around to stamp the passports. Then someone asked if I had anything to claim. Then we crossed the border and I got another interrogation from the Serbian police. Then they stamped my passport. And rechecked my ticket. Everytime an agent walked by, they opened my compartment to peek in. For one of the first times in my life, I was grateful to be Canadian. Once they saw my passport and heard my mangled "dobar dan" and "hvala", they smiled and left me alone.

An agent poked his head in to tell me that we were in Belgrade. He asked me for something which I didn't understand. He then gave me an air kiss. I wanted him to leave me alone but I didn't want to appear rude. He then said "kiss". I gave him an air kiss back and started arranging my things. He didn't leave. He asked where I was from and I told him Canada.

He wanted a real kiss. I wanted him to leave me alone. He walked over and said something to me in Serbian. I gave him my dumb tourist face until he told me he wanted me to kiss him. I gave him a little peck on the cheek in hopes that it would satisfy him and he would leave me alone. Instead, he moved in for the action. He was missing several teeth and had horrible smoker's breath. I was revolted. I recoiled in my seat. I think he kissed me on the cheek. I don't know. I was too traumatised by what had just happened.

I smsed Srdjan earlier to tell him I would probably be late but to call the station to check on the arrival time. Of course, that meant the train actually arrived early. Amazing! An early Balkan train!

He wasn't there to meet me so I had some time to kill. I desperately had to use the bathroom again (boredom was making me drink my water like crazy) so I found the facilities. Since it was raining, I used my scarf to cover my head. The guy in charge of the bathroom gave me a weird look and then directed me to go through the "out" turnstyle. I couldn't figure out why he wanted me to go through that way, but I squeezed my way through.

(You might want to skip the next few paragraphs if you've got a weak stomach)

I expected nice clean toilets. What I got were nice, clean...Turkish toilets. Some even without doors. I walked up and down the hall and there was not a single "normal" toilet to be found. Well, beggars can't be choosers, so I hunkered down and...

You can't teach an old dog new tricks. No matter how "clean" or "sanitary" Turkish toilets are, I don't like them and I don't like using them. I realised that I was using the toilets in Bulgaria backwards. Still, I didn't want to end up with "wet pants", so I carefully removed one leg and squatted down. My body just wouldn't cooperate. Finally I was able to "go" without making a too much of a mess.

I looked for flush and found it almost out of reach. I flushed while I was putting my pants back on. Water gushed everywhere. (So that's why the floor was wet when I came in!). Remember, I said "too much of a mess". I quickly hopped up, half undressed, trying to get to my backpack before the water did. All the while jumping around trying not to step in the water or get my pants wet. Needless to say, the waters receded, I got dressed and walked out.

The whole episode probably killed at least 15 minutes. Coming out, I realised that with my scarf, I looked exactly like a young Muslim girl. I wondered if the Serb at the bathroom station directed me through the "out" turnstyle on purpose.

Srdjan was two hours late picking me up. Luckily, I had my copy of Balkan Ghosts with me. It was pretty nice to read about the history of Belgrade while stuck at the Belgrade train station.

Incidentally, the Belgrade station is probably one of the ugliest and least user-friendly train stations I have ever been to. It's very small (smaller even than Timisoara's), very few services and everything is written in Cyrillic. There were cops (or policija, as the Serbs like to call them) everywhere. Pretty scary looking people.

I wanted to call Srdjan but I couldn't find a place to sell me a phone card. Eventually, I convinced the lady at the information desk to let me make a call. Srdjan promised me he would be there in 15 minutes (which turned into 30 due to traffic). When we finally found each other, he was frantic. He had been around the station three times without finding me (all the while I was quietly reading my book exactly where I said I would be). He thought someone mugged me or the police got me. Luckily, we got everything straightened out and here I am sitting in his office (with a great view of Belgrade) while he's at a meeting.

It's pouring rain but we will be going to lunch soon at a French restaurant.

The price?

Srdjan is translating the menu from Serbian into English and I'll be translating it from English into French.

I think it's worth it.

Tonight, we're going to the launch of the new YSL perfume 'Cinema'. We get to Euro-Chic it up among Belgrade's finest.

Tomorrow we're going to visit some Serbian monasteries. Then it's back to Romania on Monday.