The thoughts & opinions of Sassarella, the Queen of Sass as she cavorts in 's Gravenhage & beyond. Brought to you by CES's (Chief Executive Slaves) of Big Skanky Ho Inc.
Usually, when I wake up the morning after being drunk, I will have a king-sized headache, and my clothes will be strewn willy-nilly all over the house, as if in my need to pass out I started taking them off the minute I got in the door.
This morning, I had no headache, and my clothes were sitting neatly in my laundry basket.
We landed in Tanja's apartment, and hung around watching Serbian tv, drinking beer, chowing down on chips, and generally being chatty. At some point, Shotgun Milos was on the phone (we talked for about three seconds, after which he said, "Get off the phone. I want to talk to my girlfriend." Aaaaaw. So cute.), but yeah, it was pretty girly. I have to say, though... it was pretty funny to finally be on the other end of the Shotgun Milos/Tanja phone calls, and see the computer where the chatting magic happens. I was sort of expecting to hear a constant refrain of bee-booooo from the computer, but they confined themselves to mostly talking on the phone.
Eventually we took off to meet Tanja's friends Pedjo (I'm sure I spelled this wrong, but I think it's phonetically correct), and Gandhi (yeah... not really sure about this spelling either. But he seemed pretty peaceful, so why not?), who were driving to this party. Eventually, we also met up with Kaja (I think I have this totally wrong actually, please feel free to correct me), and headed off to this party.
To be completely honest, the thing I remember most about this party was the food table. I'm sure I met a couple of people, whose names I instantly forgot, but I spent most of the time people-watching and chowing down on tasty party treats. I have no idea what I was eating but it was pastry-like, with spinach, or meat on the inside. Delicious. It helped that we were sitting right next to the food table, of course, and while I wasn't ravenously hungry, I'm known for almost never turning down free food.
I have to say though... not being able to understand anyone in Serbian is way more fun than not being able to understand anyone in Dutch. On the other hand, I had some pretty good translators.
Eventually, after Tanja and I had discussed the relative merits of my silver bracelet as a stop smoking aid, it was decided that the party was a bit slow, and that we should move on. Exile was ruled out with a phone call (from people who were there), and we ended up settling on a place called Bassment.
Bassment is apparently normally a club that lives up to its name, a smoky bar that's in a basement. This summer, they've taken over a part of the Kalemegdan moat (the place with all the tennis courts and cannons), and become an open air club. Shotgun Milos retrospectively approved this plan, because this place is owned by family members (as in his family, not "the" family). When we got there, it was a bit quiet, with not too many people milling around. I was assured by everyone there that come 2am, the place would be packed, and they turned out to be right. By the end of the night, the music was so loud that my ears were ringing for two days afterwards, and there was no room to move, much less dance.
The crowd here was completely different from the crowd at Blaywatch. Whereas at Blaywatch people looked like Scarborough ginos, everyone at Bassment was stylish to the nth degree. To the point where Vivien would have spent the evening asking people where they got their clothes. Me, I was wearing what I normally wear, as my style options were limited by what was in my suitcase. But I was wearing my fabulous red sneakers, so it was ok. We danced until around 3 or 3:30am, as talking was not really an option. But yeah, basically, I had a really good time.
A cab ride later (where I must have seemed horribly rude, but really I couldn't hear anything), and I collapsed into bed.
The next morning, surprisingly, I didn't wake up early.
But, I was early enough that we rounded ourselves up and headed for the big market in Belgrade, much to the irritation of the 12-year-old.
When I say big market, I mean big market. This place had everything. Absolutely everything. In fact, just as I was about to make a comment that they had everything but the kitchen sink, we passed a stall that sold kitchen sinks. I mean, granted, none of us bought a whole lot, but if we'd wanted to, we could have spent a whole lot of dinars. I was thinking of buying a new mobile, and even though I didn't, I was certainly spoiled for choice there. I ended up buying some pirated movies, and a t-shirt for my brother (the Partizan football team), and then we moved on to where all 12-year-olds find joy and contentment: McDonald's.
This bit's boring, so I'm going to skip it. We went to the airport after, and went home.
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ps. For Toronto people: I'm coming to town on July 31st and leaving August 17th. posted by Alleen at 8:47:00 AM
When Dorsa was visiting, me and her and Amber established a fun fact about ourselves; we all fall into different stereotypes.
In general, men take one look at Amber, and think, "I need to take this girl home to meet my mom. She's so demure."
In general, men take one look at Dorsa, and think, "I need to jump on this girl in the back seat of my car."
In general, men take one look at me, and think, "I need to take this girl out for a beer and tell her my problems with women."
The irony here is that Amber has no interest in meeting anyone's mom, Dorsa would rather not be jumped on in a back seat, and me, I've not only hit my quota on men whose problems with women I'm interested in, but I don't even like beer. Of course, once men get to know us, their opinions tend to change, to update, if you will.
At this point, men will look at Amber, and think, "There is no need for this girl to meet my mom. She's kookoo."
Men will look at Dorsa, and think, "I can jump on her in the car after she meets my mom."
Men will look at me, and think, "Maybe I can buy her a coffee instead, since she doesn't like beer, and tell her my problems with women."
I don't know about Dorsa or Amber, but from now on, if I have to listen to someone's problems with women (who isn't already a friend of good standing, preapproved by my mom, my aunt Aurore, both Amber and Dorsa, and Shotgun Milos), they should not only buy me a coffee, but also a lobster dinner, new shoes, a new hat, and a whole new outfit to go with it. And no skimping on the jewelry; friendly ears don't come cheap, baby. posted by Alleen at 8:23:34 AM
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
My pilates teacher said that I am, "quite supple."
Now that's cause for celebration. posted by Alleen at 2:41:06 PM
Monday, July 12, 2004
Ah, Normandy. Before I get started on Normandy, I should finish Belgrade. But let me tell you: French pastries + nearby patisserie = me, being fat and happy.
Rubenesque, even.
But yeah... Belgrade Day 3.
Okay, Saturday we managed to wake up slightly earlier, which means that we set out somewhere around 11:00am. We made our morning pitstop at the bakery, with me chowing down on a traditional Serb ham and cheese croissant, and then continued on to Kovacica (pronounced Kovachitsa, for the rest of the world, and yes, Belgrade people, it's missing diacritic marks, but I don't care). Kovacica is a nearby village, theoretically about half an hour away. The reason we were going was that Kovacica is famous for folk art, housing the Museum of Naive Art, and the studios of several naive artists (as in folk artists).
According to Shotgun Milos, what we should have been going for was Kovacica's other specialty, roast pork on a spit. On the other hand, I only found this out several hours after our return to Belgrade, so there you go. No roast pork on a spit. I'm sorry for disappointing you, Shotgun Milos.
On the other hand, for the amount of time it took us to get there, we probably could have roasted our own pork on a spit, painted a bunch of naive paintings of our own, rounded up some ethnic Slovaks to play the artists, and experienced Kovacica in our own backyard. Mike took the wrong bridge to get out of Belgrade (which is surrounded by rivers) and that's when we learned this fun fact about Belgrade:
"After the NATO bombings," explained Mike, "a lot of the bridges out of Belgrade were never rebuilt, so getting around can be a bit of a hassle."
Well, let me tell you, folks, he wasn't just whistling dixie. Not only was the bridge situation a bit of a downer, we also had the problem of trying to find our way using the local signage, as we had no street map of Belgrade. We drove around in circles for upwards of an hour (which I didn't mind because I got to see more of Belgrade, and the 12-year-old didn't mind because she could read her book, and Joanne didn't mind because she was sleeping, but let me tell you, it sure put Mike in a bad mood. I guess you can only play "Spot the sign to Pancevo" for so long before you go completely bugnut). Anyway, we eventually got out of Belgrade and cruising in the right direction.
So, Kovacica.
Nice place, Kovacica. It's basically a sleepy little town, but really I'm making a huge generalisation here, as I only saw a bit of it. The naive art centre, which houses a gallery, the aforementioned museum, a bunch of artist's studios and a cafe, is a group of interconnected buildings around a courtyard. So it's pretty convenient for your average tourist, who can drop by, feel enlightened by art, and then leave, all without seeing anything more of the town itself, or even smelling roast pork on a spit.
We got a tour of the gallery from the wife of the gallery owner, who took one look at me and decided I was Serbian, and started talking to me in Serbian for a good five minutes. I had real trouble convincing her that I had no idea what she was saying. On the other hand, I think this was really optimism on her part... I think she thought I was an interpreter, which meant she wouldn't have to speak English.
But anyway. Naive art. Kovacica is a Slovak enclave in Vojvodina, the most fertile province in Serbia. The art there is mainly concerned with rural themes and farming. The most famous artist to come out of there was Zuzana Chalupova, whose favourite theme was children... you can learn a bit more about her here. It was pretty educational. We eventually ended up in an artist's studio, a woman named Zuzana Holubekova who did paintings that expressed the fertility of the land, mixed with themes and decorations from traditional Slovak art. The 12-year-old freaked out, because her paintings also including things like naked ladies getting it on with giant ears of corn. But she was pretty interesting and explained about how Kovacica is one of the last remaining large centres of naive art in the area of the former Yugoslavia, with an impressive total of 27 artists.
On the other hand, art can only sustain you for so long, and we eventually stopped to have a drink at the cafe. Not too far from us were a couple of girls in traditional costume. We were taking guesses as to what they were doing there, when eventually a tour bus full of what looked like American retirees showed up and all of a sudden the whole place was packed, and the girls in traditional costume suddenly made more sense.
We decided to leave at this point to eat something, and I had a brief thought of calling Shotgun Milos to ask if he knew somewhere to eat in Kovacica, but was forced to abandon this plan because my phone wasn't working. So we drove off to Pancevo, and had a chicken sandwich from a stall, then sat down at a random cafe to enjoy Slovene beer. Well, actually, I enjoyed a coffee, while Joanne enjoyed the beer. But anyway, eventually we headed back into Belgrade, and it was much faster this time around, believe it or not. Apparently, Belgrade is easy to find; it's everywhere else you'll have trouble with.
About an hour later, I met up with Tanja and Tanja, one of whom is Shotgun Milos's girlfriend, the other being her friend. We took the bus from where I was staying to Tanja's house with the idea of chilling out before we went out in the evening. I discovered Belgrade looks a bit different when not riding around in it in a large black UN vehicle. On the other hand, riding the bus is the same in most countries (barring places like rural India or something... in Belgrade, it's pretty typical), so I don't know if I learned a lot. A man started talking to me at one point, thinking I was American. He spent some time in Chicago apparently, but before we could really get into it, me and my friendly face got off the bus in a neighbourhood called Banjica, which is where Tanja lived. The plan was to go to a party later on, and then end up in a club called Exile. This was partly orchestrated by Shotgun Milos, whose long arm apparently reaches from The Hague to Belgrade via mobile phone.
Let me start with this: I had a great time that night. I still owe Tanja some brownies for being so awesome.
More later. This post is getting incredibly long. posted by Alleen at 8:43:39 AM
Sunday, July 11, 2004
Back from Normandy. Talking to Gosia. Will post more later. posted by Alleen at 11:08:43 PM
