12-VIII-1975.
On second of august the new busodrom was opened. I read the news and forgot about it, but I'll start using it in september, when I'll have to go enroll into next semester. Now (50 years later) I found an article commemorating the event, hence the source of the datum aka date.
Horse, Magi, she, uncle.
Date approximate. Took the car and drove her and Magi to visit their uncle in a village some 40 km south*. Just like most of their uncles (and there were up to five of them), this one didn't get married, lived by selling his land bit by bit, drank and didn't take too much care of his house. Tried some of the tobacco he grew in his yard, yeccchs - not properly fermented at all, I had the wheeze in my windpipe after just three smokes. How can he smoke that? At least he didn't roll it in toilet paper, had proper "Halo Lulu 22" (from Rijeka, the best in the world), but I've seen some peasants on a train use that.
Made a few nice photos, though, and saw a bit of the local landscape that I wish I saw more often.
This summer they spoiled the beer. The probable explanation of the circumstances arrived later, as „fuckit, there a third doesn't speak with the other third, and the third third plays dead and won't interfere“. So instead of their traditionally good beer they made two, one with half a percent of extract less, and one with more. Both were a foundtaional fuckup, we didn't like either. Though, a pig gets used to whatever swill you feed it, so the stronger one, with green lettering, we found good enough in a year or two. The weaker one, with blue letters, was generally despised and vanished from the market soon.
I met the old taste two more times - once in 1998. at a neighbor's, and on 30-VII-2007.. but labeled as Sapporo.
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* something's wrong here with my memory, this is her uncle who lived in their home village, near romanian border; there in south she has an aunt and I kind of remember the trip was that way, but also remember that we did once go to the other side, to another aunt or uncle, where I waltzed the škodilak in thick mud of the village street, over the ruts left by tractors, and came out with clean shoes. But memory is one thing, the photos say another thing.
Mentions: 30-VII-2007., Margita Gunaroši (Magi), škodilak, in serbian
22-I-2013 - 31-X-2025