29-VI-2018.
We put together the paperwork - today's my scheduled-via-internet appearance at cadaster in Obrenovac, to claim the bits and pieces of land in Zajač that I inherited. I.e. just to have them assigned to my name. First we visited Lena briefly, to leave her some money (not that she needs it, but hey it's her fifth month of formal joblessness) for they are leaving for Istra tomorrow. She's on the west end of Novi Beograd, and now I know the shortcut to Surčin from there, and then there's that scenic old road through a few villages that gets us to cross the river just a few kilometers upstream from Obrenovac. We found that road two years ago, though we went through the airport; this time I know the road.
Except that at that roundabout I didn't exactly remember where did I enter it two weeks ago - from north or west. Took the west, because that's where we're going, and ended up in a street very similar to one I remember - various workshops, warehouse yards etc, all that small industry. Except there's not enough of it. It turns out that this goes in parallel with Surčin main street, it's just on the lower end of the Bežanijska Kosa (i.e. slope). At some point I say "we'll get somewhere - there's a roadsign ahead, we'll see when we get to it". And she says "that's not a roadsign, it's a truck". And then the truck vanishes behind a slight curve and I say "my roadsign ran away...". The morale of the story is that it's utterly unserbian to put roadsigns, so don't follow roadsigns, find ONE and follow it. But then it turned into a lumberyard of sorts. Damn. Then we stopped to ask a bunch of workers huddled by the side of the road, seemingly not disturbed by the light drizzle, whether we can get to Obrenovac this way. They seemed to just look at each other as if to find if there's any local among them who knows the rest of the street and is allowed to talk to strangers. She later said the building down the yard behind them was freshly burned. Eventually one guy few hundred meters later gave us simple directions - turn right at the end of the street and you get to center of the village.
By the time we arrived at Obrenovac the rain got stronger then weaker again, leaving lots of water everywhere. I memorized the location but, eh, no matter how small the city, the green market will create a parking problem on a rainy day. But I eventually found a spot, and we came to the place just some 10 minutes earlier than scheduled. The clerk, of course, had no idea we were coming, the system probably consists of a registration website, without the client app being installed on each office's PC. Perhaps in some places, but surely not Obrenovac. Still, the words "I've scheduled an appointment on the internet, as I heard that's the rule now" did the magic and I submitted my paperwork at 11:00 sharp. It took only about 90 minutes - had to find a notary to create a notarized copy of the decision (made by notary here this january, during the same session when the decision was made, but the guy didn't notarize his own copy). The notary doesn't photocopy (they do have a copier but they don't want to turn into a copying service so the girl who verifies the copies doesn't make them; the copier is in boss's room), so she went to find a copier - in a hairdresser's kiosk a block away. That took some waiting, and then we also had to pay the fee - some paltry 340 RSD, but paying is trouble because they don't accept it in the office, you have to go to a bank or post office. It turns out that they don't have the monopoly on handling payments any more, and the exchange offices in Obrenovac (and a few other other places, with accent on few) bit the bullet and so this took just a few minutes instead of waiting in a queue while someone ahead of you pays five utility bills and a speeding ticket.
The rain sort of stopped while we were leaving (I needed to pee, seriously) so I rushed through Zajač until we found that restaurant recommended by a few folks at burundi. Neat, outside with a lot of space for kids, even a tobogan (not the once usual job done by a blacksmith and a tinsmith, but the now standard plastic that adorns any larger gas station or gray box store). While we ate young beef (from) under sač (sač being an iron lid, over and around the pan, which is then covered with žeravica (the red chunks from the fire which are burning without flame - not embers, embers are the remainder of it, and not hot coals because this is just wood, no coal) some serious rain began, then subsided, then returned with even more force. We then went to auntie Janja, after giving up on trying to find uncle Staja's street - they finally, finally, have street names posted, but I didn't remember the name, guessed wrong once and had to maneuver smartly to get back to the main street. Because these sidestreets are narrow, for just one horsecart, and nobody ever thought of giving up a couple of meters of land to make them regular width.
Her place has a bus stop right in front of the gate, and the street is actually the road from Belgrade to Obrenovac, roughly following the river. So I had to maneuver more to just park the car, then we stood in the pouring rain for a few minutes to see how to call her out - she had two dogs and lots of water in the yard. Eventually I checked my nokla and look, I had her home number. So got her out, and went in with her, no outpouring of wet affection from the dogs, thank you. Had a coffee with her, talked of this and that, maneuvered ourselves from her ordering some giro from the new joint across the street, and eventually got ourselves out, back on the road. The rain was just bad, not overwhelmingly bad, so I started my way to Belgrade. We wanted to go to Zlatibor or Tara, but that's west where most of the storm was heading, so then Sokobanja. It was on our list for some day in the future, so why not today.
Got on the beltway at Ostružnica and it took us perhaps hour and a half to get to the Niš highway, because there are still two traffic lights for exits to Resnik. Combined with (now again) pouring rain and hundred trucks, it just couldn't go any faster. The trucks blaring their horns in the tunnel was almost a good reason to try to shoot some video just to catch those echoes, but somehow I wasn't in the mood - to do that I'd have to open my window, which would expose me to the mist raised by the wheels from the left lane. We were wet enough as it were.
Somewhere around Pojate I realized I knew the location of Sokobanja just generally, as in "about 80px east of the highway, somewhere between Kragujevac and Niš". Well, found a parking on the side, pulled out the bad old GPS and, this time, managed to get through the incomprehensive language of its graphics, where each arrow or circle could mean any of the six things which come to mind. It even knew the speed limits (now raised from 120 to 130 on the highway) and she would tell at times when the little bastard snitched on me. The little old saxo was purring, the noise wasn't too much (thanks to the foam in the doorsteps and hoods). When we got off the highway (and the place is very close to Niš, really), the scene changed drastically. Aleksinački Rudnici (a miners' place) and Aleksinac itself look almost like ghost towns, the main road zigzags through the streets (i.e. no truck road around), the pavement is 50 shades of gray patches... but the nature is green, there's woods and woods and that fine lake. By the time we got to Sokobanja it was dusk. We had dinner (just a burger and a juice) at the most untipical pizza joint, but I just spent 7 hours driving through rain and stop-go). Found a room, actually a one-room apartment, using the true and trusted method - find two locals sitting in the same place (bakery's terrace) as before our dinner, ask them about the apartments on the upper storeys, hear that it's complicated as it's six owners on nine apartments and you have to deal with the one you pick, but they know a guy who has a place smack downtown. The guy came in 5 minutes, and in another 15 we had a room. Went out and had a couple of beers, then slept like babies.
Mentions: auntie Janja, burundi, Jelena Sredljević (Lena), nokla, saxo, uncle Staja, Zajač, in serbian