We landed, checked into the sexy Majestic right bang in the middle of town surrounded on all sides by sidewalks, parasols, al fresco dining and - ok, I admit - many concrete blocks styled after the Soviet fashion. They were quite pretty, in an Eastern-European-female-wrestler-from-the-70's kinda way.
We'd all flown in from NYC. Our good friend and guide for the the night - by virtue of having been a Belgrade native before moving to the Big Apple - met us for a beer at said al fresco joints downstairs and we headed off to THE strip in Belgrade. After walking up and down that really nice neighborhood full of restaurants and revelers, we sat some place and proceeded to order, in the usual American fashion, way too much.
Sorry, if you were expecting a post on the "cultural exception" clause, you will be disappointed, because I had no culture back then. Dinner proceeded. And then came the gypsies.
As anywhere else in Europe, these poor folk are quite stereotyped and discriminated against. A band of four was playing assorted songs, table by table, working for tips. They got to our table.
The band-leader looked at me, and immediately started talking to our Serb friend - "where is he from, what is he to you, etc" line of questioning followed. Then I believe he declared that we (his people and I) were brothers, because after all the Roma came out of India. Then they proceeded to entertain us with several songs, for which I can only hope we tipped them decently. I believe a hug or at least a handshake was involved along the way.
What's unexpected is indeed the best. Unless of course it's a Bobbitt.
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