3-16: Sam Goes Back to Fifth Grade

Yesterday, Nikica finally snapped and sent me back to fifth grade.

Pictured: Jesus Christ, why does this come up when you Google Image "fifth grade"?

Nah, she sent us all there. Yesterday we met up in front of the Parliament building (not, contrary to popular belief, staffed by fifth-graders) and trekked to a nearby elementary school to meet with a small class of fifth-grade English students who, I'd imagine, were meant to be our linguistic peers.

Unfortunately, their capabilities in English vastly eclipsed our own.

Despite the initial fear of the two American big kids with scary-looking crazy smiles (Dave and I did not initially have high hopes for our skills at interacting with small children), before too long all the boys realized that we like talking about about food, basketball, and movies with explosions, and before we knew it we were surrounded by ankle-biters asking us if we like to drive fast cars. This country never ceases to make my day. Here are some highlights:

• A conversation with one:
• Kid: "Do you have Facebook?"
• Me/Dave: "Yes, do you?"
• *Adopts a disinterested look* "Yes. I have six."
• "Six Facebooks, huh?"
• "No, excuse me. Seven Facebooks. But three of them are blocked."
• "That's Andreas. He's really good at maths. He also likes to shoot things."
• A conversation Dave had:
• Kid: "Hey...you got a girlfriend?"
• Dave: "No. Do you?"
• "No. I'm in love, though..."

All of which proves that twelve-year olds are priceless. Of concern was the "No smoking" sign in the elementary-school library, but I'm not here to judge. Pre-algebra is some stressful shit, cuz.

 Last night consisted of carousal through the snow for an Irish pub with some fantastic people, because this is Beograd, and if there is some kind of national (read--any nation's) holiday within a week-long radius, you bet your ass it's reason to head out and celebrate it.

Incidentally, the rest of Beograd agreed with this. So we headed off to a cafe instead and had a pretty fantastic time regardless. Then, having walked people home and finding myself near the river, and of course too cheap to find a cab, I had an odyssey of a walk across town. To the bullet list, Robin!

• Walking by Hotel Moskva, the entire city block's power abruptly flickered, crackled, and went down, leaving nothing but traffic lights and the reserve lobby-lights. This was all well and good--beautiful, even, with the falling snow--until I came to one of the underground passages that crosses under the street. And saw a gaping, black abyss, letting free absolutely no sound and absolutely no light. I looked around, seeing nobody around, sighed, and stepped down into the darkness. Thus commenced the longest freaking forty-five seconds of my life, walking towards a dim light straight ahead, when I started to see something move, a shifting shadow in the darkness. I made myself take a step, then another, then another, freeing my hands out of my pockets, ready to defend myself against...two teenagers making out. Goddammit, get a room. the Hotel Moskva is right there.
• I walked past a bunch of loud drunk guys dicking around outside a closing restaurant with clearly irritated staff. I hung around, waiting for some Bruce Lee shit to go down (consisting of me backing away slowly and calling the cops if things got violent). Finally, they broke a door off its hinges. The owner came out to confront them, at which point they all crowded around...and apologized profusely, helping him repair it. Sometimes this town restores my faith in humanity.
• I turned a corner behind Parliament and immediately made brief eye contact with a gentleman straight-up pissing in the middle of the road. Not on a corner, not into a drain, just drainin' the dragon in the general direction of Parliament with a defiant glare upon his visage. I dared not maintain eye contact, lest the man's anarchic fury burn my soul to ashes or, heavens forbid, I earn his urinary ire. Sometimes, I see a fountain in a city square and wonder about his story. Was he an ousted Parliamentarian, sorrowfully pissing away his misery? Or is he simply a world anarchist, trotting the globe, seeking to mark the capitals of the land in the name of the people? It made for a pensive walk home.

Overall, I call it a decent Friday night.

1.  Spring has finally come to Beograd. Then winter pimp-slapped it back into April and dumped a few inches of snow on this town. WE WILL HAVE WORDS, ZEUS.
2. Twenty-four hour bakeries. Oh my god. I have no words except "Želam dve, molim vas".
3. Gorki list. Look it up. Not even once. It's not powerful by any means, it just tastes like absolute doom. Ms. Lawnicki, I concede that point thusly.

Srpski reć dnenvi: Gorak (горак): Bitter (Seriously. Not even once.)