Traveling funks me up. It provides me endless amounts of time to think about all unnecessary thoughts, plenty of space to let my mind unravel into a bottomless pit of imaginative insanity, a perfect framework for a person with their hands tied in a straight jacket in a bouncy, white, locked room (at least that person would have bouncy walls).
I arrived back in Belgrade this afternoon. I lugged my two backpacks (one I carry as my pseudo-Croatian baby, the other on my back) up 5 flights of stairs to the Black Catz Hostel, a 2 minute walk from the center square, Trg Republike.
Becca, Marissa and I have four beds to ourselves in a private room in this hostel. I wouldn't say that I am an "experienced" hosteler, but I have been in my fair share of hostels, including plenty of collective living situations.
Basically, there is only one other room besides ours where 6 others can live. There is one bathroom with a sink, tube+shower duo thinger, and a washer-dryer. The common area consists of a table with two long benches, a TV with cable, DVD player, a communal computer, an office, a loft (for the person who works there to sleep in I'd imagine), and cupboard of a kitchen. It's what I would imagine for 6.5 euros a night.
But the important part is this: When we entered, the first thing they did was show us our room and provide us with free shots of Rakija (amazingly strong domestic brandy made here--my favorite is the honey one, called Rakija Medicom). I got tipsy far too quickly (that's what no food will do to you) but shared a conversation with a Frenchman, two Aussie chicks, a New Zealander who lives in England, and our mammoth sized Hostel dude, Mladin.
I haven't been sleeping well and am very tired. Tomorrow I plan on organizing my life for the next 3.5 weeks. We all hope to finish our projects with time to go to Budapest on our way home. These sentences don't make sense together.
We play cards with wine now. Ciao!
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