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…

How A Sleepy Serbian Mountain Town Woke Me Up – Part 1.5

The border security officer at passport control greeted me with a glare, palpably unsettled by my sunshine chakra. Or maybe it was the fixed grin. She eyed me for a while and confirmed that the only real national security threat I could possibly pose involved the subjection of the Serbian population to the sight of…

How A Sleepy Serbian Mountain Town Woke Me Up – Part 1

I was in a stuffy aluminum box suspended somewhere in European airspace at an altitude of 39,000 feet, summoning all the restraint I could possibly possess in the inner alcoves of my soul to resist throwing Lucifer’s Spawn out of the window. And I would have, if his antithetically angelic twin sister wasn’t sitting between us. Instead, I gripped the Hemingway I…