How A Sleepy Serbian Mountain Town Woke Me Up – Part 3: The End

The sun was beating down like Muhammad Ali in those two rounds against Liston, so the streets of Čačak were empty save for a lone lunatic who had thought that the thirteen years she’d spent inhabiting a desert granted her heat stroke immunity. And the grace to parry heliacal jabs, I guess. Needless to say,…

How a Sleepy Serbian Mountain Town Woke Me Up – Part 2

The whoosh of the automatic doors closing after me was the ersterbend in the musical score to my exhaustingly Homeric airport saga. This final note had barely evaporated into the ether when I spotted my grandma, front and centre in an Acheron of eager loved ones and bored sign-wielders, beaming widely and waving frantically at…