slice of life BELGRADE
Tru ... tru tru tru tru ... plin plin plin tru ... "Ok, I heard you, I'm ready!" ... I am roughly the 9:10 / 9:15 when the alarm sounds the phone: the average day Fellow of the typical Italian begins in Belgrade. I open my eyes (Sometimes in the hope of not waking up where I wake up), I get up, go to the bathroom: I do not have much time, so that a forklift pockets jeans and a sweater in case and sling me down, badges and "jeton" in hand, for breakfast (no time till 9.30).
A flight of stairs, walk twenty yards in the courtyard (the fresh air helps in the wake) and straight to the canteen, in the hope that there is a mythical Eurocreme: Alternatively, honey or jam. If you own the dish cries, you go "to the Serbian", so homelette or fried egg or sausage. If Plan B fails, down and sliced \u200b\u200bcheese. Basically, with my "cartiza" (student card, which among other things to be entitled to a range of discounts) you can take one of the dishes listed so far, which can accompany two cups (tea or milk) and a yogurt or a cup, no bread at all times. Generally, the waiters smile, tipping the scales in unlikely conversations that most of the time stop at "Good morning" (good morning). At the end of the corridor, there un'inserviente who takes the card, "a scale breakfast, receive the" jeton "in exchange for making the cutlery and the card itself. Time to sit, eat and return everything in the kitchen, receiving in exchange for the courtesy, the "jeton" above (obtained in exchange a deposit of 200 dinars, paid to "blagaina", in which case the work Zorana, renamed by my former roommate, Jan "The Cow" for his willingness and openness).
It 's time to get back in the room, take a shower, and talk to the maid: - Good morning, kako you? - Dobro, Hvala. Do you? - Dobro "(do not translate, I think you can do it by myself). There is only one guy who chews a bit of security 'of English: with a teasing him never fails, even when it is held up from sleep (something that happens often, as to all the Serbs).
collected weapons in luggage within half an hour (after waiting variable) the trolley bus number 40 takes me straight at the Italian culture: within in media center, greets Ivan, Marina and Branco and I sit at the computer. Email, Facebook and Courier, just to see who pulls air around, then the various newsletters for information on the Balkans, finally, "any other business" until lunch.
Normally I get home (at the table above), or reach one of the other university canteens: a soup, a hot dish, a vegetable dish (cold), a sweet (or alternatively a fruit juice) and bread will: the procedure is the same in the morning, with the difference that the line to enter the food ranges from zero to forty minutes. Returned the plates and regained the chip, it returned to the Institute, as usual in computer media: If you do not need a hand at the Institute, if not browsing until late afternoon, when I go to a gym to perform the test (from a good researcher) to Belgrade volleyball, and junior categories juniorke.
Before or after the gym (it depends on) is the dinner that follows the lunch, but without the soup. Once home, normally "loaded" test results, I do "two things" to the pc (I know, the blog?), Two wash clothes by hand and maybe slowly I'm preparing to go to sleep.
basically three times months reloading the card with ten breakfasts, ten lunches and ten dinners (cost me 1090 dinars, or about 11 Euro), to recharge the card you go to the "cow" above. The quality of food, although different by day and restaurant, is certainly not excellent, but on average is reasonable, usually I always eat everything, I realize - sometimes - to eat the food that the Serbs leave squeamish in the pot (" the war is over "... I think tragicomically).
have a big honor students Serbs: they eat quickly. So even when the files are easily mileage is always a seat, even in small and crowded tables. However, they have a flaw: when the lines are long, the student "smart" takes off his coat "occupying" a place. So when you finally have the last full tray - maybe half an hour after the tail - in your hands, you're there that turns the table like an idiot, including chairs occupied by the coats of those who have just arrived in the dining room and eat in half an hour, if all goes well, because the row in the meantime has lengthened dramatically. Normally, a good Italian, "I slam" and I sit, ready to smile, in the case, apologizing playing the card of "foreigner."
The alternatives to the procedure we I am, and range from lessons (once a week in the faculty of political science: I follow a course in public administration and policy, held by an American professor) to the incursions of Frederick, my Italian friend with whom I often grant of breaks with coffee and conversation at its purest: whatever people may say, the Italians need other Italians, at times, to speak "in Italian" and "Italian". Fred is usually my partner of battles during the weekend when, with mixed success, we look for entertainment in the Belgrade nightlife. Last weekend I also tried to put back in my routine workouts: I went to run for two days in a row at a track in front of the student residence where I live. Two one-hour sessions each, which made me walk "like an Egyptian" until Wednesday.
Today is Friday, Fred is still in Italy so the outlook for the weekend certainly did not seem exciting, despite the derby on Sunday: the three days off will be even as the national holiday is somehow moved to Monday because of falling Sunday. Moreover it snows, so no training. And the Italian Cultural Institute is closed, so no internet. At home I have not even television. I feel half way between the senior and the Scandinavian something tells me that tomorrow will miss the tru tru tru ...
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