Dear H., it is strange to come back to our dear Belgrade and find it so quiet and still. In summer the city turned itself inside out and spread its reaches in front of our eyes. All we had to do was take it. Now the city lies closed, like an oyster in its shell. The only partygoers, it seems, are rain, wind and cold. But there should be someone out there, some hidden door, and a password of some kind…. You circle around a neighborhood, and suddenly you hear a muffled voice, a clinking of glasses here, a strip of music there. You move towards a dim yellow light of a kafana, like a curious moth. Is it there, life? The door opens, you are inside and the whole Merry City is in front of you. In winter, like a whale that spurted out a load of water, Belgrade buries itself underground. But there are no secret words to get to it. All you need is a curious mind.
Belgrade is waiting. And me.
With love,
O.
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