On joue au basket.

When I went to school in France there was a basketball court in the courtyard of the school. I'm guessing it didn't get much use before I started there. The year I went to Lycee Stendhal though three other Americans also started school there, and we all like playing basketball. We also had a Brazilian friend who liked it too, and was really quite good at it. Pretty soon, though, we had our English, Italian, Norwegian, Romanian and French friends all playing with us. They didn't even know who Michael Jordan was. A few knew the name Magic Johnson. We were teaching the zone defense, the pick-and-roll, and even doing layup drills. The French faculty hated it, well most did. "You're always out there bouncing that ball!" the math teacher complained. When I went back I found they had expanded a building that was at the back of the courtyard and just taken out the basketball court. A pity.

That all was a bit of nostalgia for some international hoops action. While in Serbia this last time we were invited to join the Belgrade office's regular Thursday after work game. I knew Serbia had more of a tradition of playing basketball than France had going back to watching Vlade Divac. Northwestern in particular had begun making a practice of recruiting Serbian players. Still, I thought I was essentially in for the equivalent of a pickup game in the park that you can find anywhere here in the States. I was mistaken.

The game we played was more on par with a men's rec. league here. Our hosts had rented the gym for an hour, a small, hot, sweaty little court at the top floor of the rec. center. I just wore the shorts and t-shirt I had worn to work. Our Serbian friends emerged in baggy shorts, tank tops, high tops, and knee braces. A couple did laps around the gym. They stretched. STRETCHED! I was slightly bemused, slightly bewildered. In the States one gears up for playing sports by doing a couple tequila shots in the parking lot before a softball game. Even I feel ridiculous when I stretch before a running race, because almost no one else ever does. I started to think this was going to be much more serious than a normal pickup game.

It was. Once the game was on we ran up and down the court. Pick-and-roll. Double and triple picks to get guys open. Switching your man, hedging on the pick up top. Filling your lane on the fast break. The first time I went up for a rebound I felt my left shoulder, the one I've dislocated twice before and had surgery on, come out of socket and fall back in. I played on. At some point someone threatened to walk off and go home, muttering something to a teammate that was probably the equivalent of "Pass the f-ing ball, Isaiah Thomas," in Serbian. Things were serious. After forty minutes of this up-and-down game I was toast. After an hour I was jelly, a sweaty ball of quivering jelly. Note to self: next time bring a couple water bottles.

I made it into work next day just fine, though on sore legs, and had a few people who hadn't even played come up to me and say how they heard I was a good basketball player. It's held in high regard in the Belgrade office, and for good reason I see now. It's not a Sunday afternoon game in the backyard that they play. I left Serbia thinking, man, I need to get in better shape, so I can come back and really play a good game with these guys.

Now return you to your regularly scheduled...

So return with me back to Belgrade....

I was able to meet up with Josh. Seemed we missed each other in the airport. He led me back to the flat at Republic Square, which really is the center of town in Belgrade. Prime location. There was an elevator in the building, which was nice since there were otherwise 1 million stairs to climb; however, it is the smallest and perhaps slowest elevator in the civilized world.

Imagine this key, but twice as long

So we get up to the 4th floor, 5th if you aren't going by the European standard of naming the ground floor "Floor 0" (which, frankly, is more consistent with my computer programmer sensibilities). Then Josh revealed the "magic key" The magic key looked like Snape's magic wand if Snape were a steampunk character, or like some sort of obscene torture device, about six inches long with wicked teeth on each side. The real magic to the key, though, was knowing the secret to turning it just so to actually get the door to unlock. I would say we spent fifteen to twenty minutes trying to get that door to open until Josh non-chalantly turned his back to it and turned the key while he faced away from the door, which slid open easy as can be. It was a big, heavy, steel-framed door, and apparently there was a pressure point to the right side of the door that
you needed to coax. These are things they don't put in the travel brochure.

I forget now where we went to dinner that first night. Probably was this sort of cool oncept place where they have a bunch of stations with pizza, salads, pasta, etc. and at any one you give them your little swipe card, and at the end you give the cashier the swipe card and pay for whatever you got. I've seen a similar thing a couple times in the States.

It's much cheaper to get a nice meal in Belgrade than in Denver. A beer, salad, nice entree, and maybe a coffee after will set you back $8-10, about what it costs me to get a burger in downtown Denver. I think it was the next night that we went to a place with more traditional Serbian fare. Well, we walked past it, walked back and finally found it. There are only a few food items that I actually know the Serbian name for and two of them are a couple basic salads: srpska and shopska. Srpska salata has tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and onions. Shopska is basically the same thing with a heap of Bulgarian sirene cheese. These are important items to remember, because they may be the only fresh vegetables you find at a Serbian restaurant. That is a bit exaggerated, but seriously they eat a lot of meat, particularly grilled meats. Serbia is no place to be a vegetarian.

Souvenirs, souvenirs!

Someone asked me my one best memory of this trip. Without a doubt it has to be having dinner with the family that hosted me in Grenoble 24 years ago now. Beyond that, though, I had trouble picking out just one moment that stood out more than the rest. Last night, however, I remembered just what that one moment was: listening to jazz at Le Piano Vache. 

I've heard good jazz live before. I thought it was good anyway. I had never heard anything like the trio we heard there. Two guitars and a bass player. I really can't explain how I felt or why necessarily. It was like a drug. If I could feel that way all the time, I would do it.

On joue au foot.

I was sort of anticipating that this would happen, but I'm going to need to piece together the rest of this trip from a few notes that I have along with pictures that I've been taking. There just hasn't really been a lot of time up until now to get any writing done. The trip has been packed with activity and food and walking. I don't think I've walked less than five miles for a single day in the past two weeks. I'm hoping that will counteract the tons of delicious food, wine, and other drink we've been having, but I will be afraid to get on a scale for at least a week after we get back.

Today, however, we are taking it easy. Our feet and legs are telling us to slow down today after walking about 8 miles yesterday. It's been quite warm here as well in France - mid-eighties - which is unusual for this time of year. And of course it has been much more humid than we are used to. Each day my shirts have ended up with a disgusting salt stain, and I've had to change before dinner. Which reminds me, we need to get some laundry in!

The apartments we've stayed in have been nice, each one in a perfect location. AirBnB is the way to go, and frankly, I don't want to stay in a hotel ever again. I have an entire blog post composed in my head just about AirBnB, but I will save that for now.

There have been so many wonderful moments this trip, it's hard to nail down just any one. Highlights have included the view of Paris from the Notre Dame, making random friends with a group in Montmartre, getting to visit with an old friend and his beautiful family, rooting for random World Cup teams just because, and pretty much every meal we've eaten here in France.

I'll start working on piecing together the rest. At some point I feel like I need to venture back out today to find a French soccer jersey. It's like they've all sold out here in Grenoble or something, but I will need something for the game tomorrow.

Lost Bag, Lost Boss

My boss, Josh, was flying into Belgrade from Chicago via Frankfurt. His plane was scheduled to land just after mine. We landed pretty much on time, so I figured I would get my bag and then look for him. So I waited for my bag to come. And waited. And waited. The Belgrade airport, named after Nickola Tesla, is a small airport. There are four baggage carousels. We were at carousel 2, and I saw a relatively large flight beginning to gather around carousel 4 and figured that was the Frankfurt flight. So I walked down and had a look around but didn't see Josh. So I continued waiting for my bag. It never came. There were still a bunch of us there waiting - maybe 8 or 10, so I was thinking that maybe there was a whole load that overturned or something. Finally the conveyor shut off and the group began to shuffle to the lost baggage office.

I went over and had a look for Josh again at the Frankfurt group that had dwindled down to only a few passengers. No dice. I figured either he had either missed his flight or had walked out through customs already and was waiting for me on the other side. Now I begin to worry. The flat we have rented is in Josh's name. I don't even know the address, though I know about where it is in town. I have no phone service and no wireless access. I am trapped in this area between passport control, which I have already been through, and customs, which I can't go through until I resolve this lost bag issue. There is no public phone in this little Purgatory. I wait my turn in line for the airline representative.

A few people ahead of me is another American, a mid-thirties red-haired woman from Minnesota, I hear her tell the representative. For a minute I'm afraid she is going to flip out on the guy and make a bad impression of us Americans, but despite being in an obvious bad mood, she keeps it together. The Serbian girl ahead of me who looks like a tall Emmy Rossum is positively bubbly, though. She's dancing around, smiling, and chatting with me in very broken English. I guess it is much easier to deal with losing your bag once you are home, though.

Just before I finally get to the rep. I remember that Josh had sent me the info on the flat to my email. I have Outlook on my laptop and chances are good that the email has been stored on there, so I fire it up. My laptop, as I often remind my boss, is nine years old, so it take a long time to boot. Of course, as soon as it does, I get to the front of the line and have to stand there with it in my hands while I chat with the airline guy. I've already written down that I will be staying at Hotel Europa, the hotel we normally stay at in Belgrade, on the lost baggage slip. I don't even know if I can get a reservation there now. However, I know it is close to where the flat actually is and I know the next flight from Frankfurt doesn't come in until midnight. I figure chances are good that I end up there or somewhere close to there anyway. The airline guy tells me that if I need to, I can call and change where they send the bag to and that it wouldn't be in until late that night anyway. They wouldn't send it until the next day.

I'm bummed, but I've been telling Jen to just think of trying to get around in Europe as if she is on the Amazing Race. It's my turn to do that now and just do what I can. I walk through customs with nothing to declare except for my new distaste for Charles De Gaulle Airport. Josh is not on the other side. In Belgrade you arrange the taxi at the airport at a specific desk. They give you the flat rate to where you want to go and a voucher to give to the cab driver. It's all quite efficient, and you don't need to worry about the driver taking the long way around to where you want to go. (GET IT RIGHT, PARIS and LAS VEGAS!)

I arrive in the center of Belgrade at Republic Square with really no place to go. I find the building where our apartment is, but really have no idea if I should go up or if anyone is there. I end up walking over to Hotel Europa just because I know if I stand outside that my phone will get wireless reception. I am able to get hold of Jen on Facebook and tell her my situation. "Josh just texted that he got there. No. 3 Republic Square." she texts to me.

Je vol!

Monday
12:32PM
I'm in the Belgrade office now after a very long day of travel yesterday.
Here's a recap:

Me: I got everything into one roller bag. Pretty proud of myself
Jen: You're going to check that aren't you? That's too big for a carry-on.
Me: No way! I've seen people with much larger carry-ons!
Jen: Um... okay.
Me (after being dropped off at the airport): You know, I really don't want to drag this all over tarnation. I get a free checked bag anyway. (I'm just going to check it.)
* That ominous sound they make on Amazing Race when someone has just made a blunder *

Jen gets me to the airport with a good hour and twenty minutes to spare. I get to security. Great. Not very busy. This should take no time at all.

DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF THE TSA!

There are probably thirty TSA agents at the security check. They are manning two lines plus the CLEAR check line through which no one can really go anyway. The two regular lines are both feeding into one body scan machine. On top of this, there must have been some security alert because they are checking almost every other person for explosives. Plus you need to have another ten TSA agents to stand around and give you stupid looks while they chat amongst themselves. After 45 minutes I finally get to the gate with just enough time to buy a bottle of water before they begin boarding.

My first hop is a Delta flight from Denver to Minneapolis. It's late to take off. I have the window seat and in the middle next to me is an older gentleman who is part squirrel. He fidgets in his seat. Once we're at altitude he takes out his carry-on and begins taking things out of one pocket, looking at them, and putting them back into some other pocket. I don't think he's looking for anything in particular, just rearranging his acorns. I'm finally ready to say, "What the hell are you looking for?" when he suddenly ends up fast asleep.

We arrive late to Minneapolis. I was supposed to have about an hour but only end up with about ten minutes before my next flight is to board. Enough time to find a bathroom, but between the arrival gate and my next departure gate (which are relatively close) there is no bathroom. Seemingly the closest bathroom is going to be a ten minute walk away. I choose to just board at my assigned time.

I forget how long these international flights take to board. Good lord, people! Just throw that carry-on up there and have a seat. Nope. They have to remove clothing, put clothing on, give their kids Cheerios, and generally just stand in the aisle for no reason whatsoever. Also, there are two lanes on these jumbo jets. Use both of them! Everyone files down the one side and then end up having to crawl over the people in the middle. Thankfully I'm on the aisle on the far side of the middle section, so no one is crawling over me. And it's both a blessing and a curse that I am seated just in front of the lavatory. It's a blessing because there is no one behind me to kick my seat and generally be annoying. Also as soon as the plane gets to cruising altitude I'm out of my seat to finally relieve my bladder. The curse though is that, especially after the meal service is finished, there is a line up of people waiting to use it. All of them checking out what movie I have playing.

Two things to note: free drinks on international flights on Delta and you get your own in-flight entertainment screen. I was not going to be playing Bejeweled; however, I did take in several movies. None of which must have been too memorable, because I can't recall now what I actually watched. There was a rather morose teenager or early twenty-something next to me. Didn't want anything to drink, anything to eat... and was traveling by himself to Paris. Dude, lighten up. There could be worse things in life.

The flight was generally pretty good even with all the bathroom line gawkers. The airport in Paris, however, not so much. We landed with over an hour and a half to spare for me to get to my Belgrade flight. Apparently that is not enough time. After taxiing for what seemed to be the entire month of June, we arrived at terminal M1. I had to get all the way to the other side of the airport to terminal D2. If you've traveled in Europe before you will understand how there are security checkpoints in seemingly random places. So you go through the rigamaroll of removing shoes and things from your pocket and pantomiming with security agents a number of times. I will say that at least in Paris they also had 30 agents working THIRTY lines. GET IT RIGHT, AMERICA! So getting through security was a breeze. For some reason this happens after you deboard the plane but BEFORE you go and get on a bus to go around in a loop to get to the correct terminal. D2, of course, was the last stop in that loop. An hour and fifteen minutes later, I'm finally at my gate for the final leg. So I made it and still time to spare, so an hour and a half really is enough right? Remember that ominous noise the t.v. made when I decided to check my bag?

Air Serbia has a lot of things going for it, and by a lot of things I mean two: free beer and liquor and the flight attendants. I had a Jelen, Serbian beer. Hey, when in Rome, right? Besides, my other choice was Heineken. The Jelen was warm. Seemed somehow fitting. Serbian women are beautiful. There. I said it. The Serbian people generally are an attractive lot. Good genes I guess. They're generally tall and lean. Apparently you must be at least 6 ft tall and weigh no more than 140 pounds to be a flight attendant for Air Serbia. Makes me wonder if they weigh them in like Pan Am used to.

Air Serbia's fleet isn't the newest out there. I think it is slightly younger than what we Americans used to bomb Dresden. Our pilot wasn't concerned. He pushed that machine to its bounds. I think he flew in the Balkan wars. His takeoff and descent were both steep and his turns were... ummm... aggressive. The Greek girl next to me kept crossing herself. I honestly don't get nervous on flights, but the landing had me gripping the arm rest. Still he managed to get it down in one piece.

Pre-flight Check

These are just the notes I jotted down quickly as I was getting ready to begin the trip the other day. I'm here now in damp Belgrade. I'll try to get down more of what has been an interesting trip later tonight.

Friday
8:00 PM (UTC -7h)
Just getting back in from getting my computer at work, which I forgot as I left. So this trip isn't exactly starting off great. There are a million things that I need to do yet. I guess it's okay because I am probably going to end up pulling an all-nighter, but at least that may get me on track with the time change. So I am just going to take a few minutes here and there and do a little writing in between doing chores. Hopefully it will help keep me motivated and on track rather than be a distraction.

So far I've picked up my prescription to make sure I have enough pills that I don't lose my sanity on this trip. I picked up a few other things at the store as well, travel sized stuff. Now I'm off to at least begin packing. There is probably still some laundry that needs to be finished. Blah.

9:22 PM
All packed for over two weeks in Europe into one small roller bag. Doesn't hurt that laundry will be available and that the weather should be warm. Just need to figure out what goes into the little plastic bags, since I usually check my toiletries and the only liquid I carry on are those little booze shooters. Such a professional packer that I rewarded myself with a beer. It's like I'm old hat at this.

11:23 PM
I got a few other things accomplished... just some things that needed doing before I left. Now I think I am off to see Jen at Copper. I just don't want this to be the end of things for tonight, as I am on a pretty good roll. I have things pretty much wrapped up now, though, until I can get to work outside on some things.

Saturday
9:55 AM
Well, that worked out just about the way I expected it to. Couple more beers and that was it for the entire night, though I did get a few more things crossed off my to-do list. T-minus one hour now before I head to the airport. I'm otta sign off for now. Maybe I'll have time to write something in Minneapolis. I go from there through Paris and then to Belgrade by noonish tommorow.