Driving. Ceca.

We feel like three men in a boat. Our original agreement was to leave Bela Rechka at 10 a.m. It wasn’t raining. Although all our stuff looked pretty much packed, a number of things needed to be fetched or rearranged. Then we had a light breakfast prepared by Nikolaj, the writer. And then greetings, kisses, goodbyes, invitations and ideas for future gatherings. We leave before twelve. Thanks to the switch to daylight savings we have an extra hour. We want to avoid the motorway, so we head for Vidin and then towards Serbia. The landscape changes with every kilometre; we descend to the Danube, passing through mountain passes, ascending and descending on numerous serpentines, all the time on the edge of the storm. Looking towards Stara Planina, the sky is filled with dark leaden clouds, while above the Danube it is clear blue. Our road is the dividing line, all the way to Belgrade. The air is humid and oppressive. The monotony of eight hours of driving in our blue “Methodius” is relieved only by our last shopping break in Bulgaria on which we duly spend all our leva. Mostly on oil, naturally. It’s quite fun, actually – a bunch of guys opening thirty one-litre bottles of the cheapest vegetable oil and pouring it into the fuel tank. This is preceded by our attempts at finding the cheapest place to buy oil and asking how much they have in stock (Billa is reliable). This way, our fuel costs are one third lower than with diesel. Nor do we neglect our needs – our last coins go for goat cheese and vegetables. Another change in the rhythm is the Serbian border control, which feels a little like being in a movie about a run-in with uniformed authority in a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, Vlado can converse jovially on both sides of the border, Pepa’s papers are in order and Roman smiles and mixes Russian and Bulgarian with all other Slavic languages, which manages to – occasionally – amuse even the stand-offish uniform. The recently established customs office savours its few minutes of importance. Again we have to explain the purpose of our project. The main question is: Why are Czechs, who use the Latin alphabet, so interested in Cyrillic? Who knows? After all, even in Serbia they alternate and mix both alphabets on public signs. Sometimes a village is marked only in Latin, sometimes in Cyrillic, sometimes in both. Graffiti is also written in both alphabets; Latin is especially striking in nationalistic slogans… and on the police car whose crew, hidden in the bushes, measured our speed. Now we know that EU citizens are charged special rates in Euros; not even Vlado is able to bargain a better deal this time. The heat and humidity are constantly getting stronger. At last, the Danube appears and then Belgrade itself. Ceca works at the theatre academy; we seek her out in New Belgrade. Vlado is radiant again, able to get directions even though hardly anyone in the street has a clue that there is a theatre academy in their area. Then we just rest and talk and rest and talk and eat and drink. We are joined by Dragan from Jabuka; he’ll be at tomorrow’s presentation, too.