The people of Belgrade, Serbia, have been the kindest, most helpful people I have encountered in all of my travels, anywhere in the world. I am proud, and I like to think that I am a relatively self-sufficient traveler. This, coupled with my fear of rejection, makes me hesitant to ask for help while abroad. Yesterday afternoon I took the bus from Skopje to Belgrade, a trip of about 8 hours. After we passed the Belgrade City limits, the bus driver spoke over the intercom.
“Bladostovrostaglanostivonaskopralostilovinotse.” At least that’s what I think he said, I may have missed a diphthong, or an accent mark. So I took the safest action I knew, and that was to exit the bus at its next stop. That put me on Bulevar Oslobodenja where it intersects with Milosa Pocerca, within view of Hram Svetog Save; which is about 12 city blocks from my intended destination: Beogradska Autobuska Atanica. My Serbian vocabulary, though growing exponentially, stood at about five words last night. Within 15 minutes I had had conversations with four different Serbs, and was fully confident that I knew the way to my hostel.
It took me staring long at some of the street signs to get a feel for the phonetic differences between Serbian and English. The Cyrillic alphabet is not as difficult as I had been led to believe. The street numbers are the most sensible numbering system I have seen, buildings are simply numbered in order. I was at my hostel, checked in, and back on the street to walk to dinner within 30 minutes of arriving here. Belgrade is a blessed place.
I am going to enjoy working with Serbian people. I know God has great plans for me, and He has great plans for you aswell.
albaniacalling 