Sunday 28 October
I awake to a tribal-like Sid crouching over me in the sofa bed. “What the hell d’ya think you were playin’ at?” Sid insists. I don’t know what he’s banging on about but eventually remember thinking that in my sleep I thought I was Mr’s Sid but Sid was still Sid. It wasn’t homosexual at all. Just unfortunate.
Jumped in a taxi and headed towards a refugee camp. It’s pretty grim. We are greeted by Milo and his family whom we met last year. They welcomed us in to their home where we sat around and drinking tea and playing recorder and tin whistle. Sid asks if they mind him snapping some photos. They don’t.
The entire camp is a row of corrugated metal and timber structures. Gino explains that everything around us, tables, chairs, oven, fridge, T.V. It’s all been found or salvaged. “Now that’s recycling!” Gino quipps. He’s right. These people are fantastic.
We head outside and start walking about. Sid’s clicking away. We head into the toilet. It’s one toilet block for all the families. It stinks. It’s got no door and inside is one steel sink about 2 metres long and covered in green fungus. The row of cubicled toilets are like those old french ones: the hole in the ground. None of the cubicles has a door on it. “Jeez!” we all take turns in saying intermittently. It stinks real bad. Sid stopped taking photos at this point. I argued that he should be taking some. He didn’t.
Out in the fresh air a group of kids had gathered to view us from afar. The seem to love my cowboy hat and boots. An old granny comes out to sweep her step. I remember when Ireland used to have grannies like that. We walk some more about the place. There’s a pig housed up in a sty which must have room for at least two more pigs. Literally. There was a bunch of pumpkins stored in the eaves of one home. Eventually the bus pulled up and we all climbed in and I began singing Prince songs at the kids.
We arrive at Sirona, a boat which has had Maradona onboard if we are to believe the photographic evidence. There’s already Jelena and the rest of her kids from yesterday’s camp. About 100 or so. Aware that it might look like there was favouritism with us arriving with the other kids I shook hands individually with all of Jelena’s new batch explaining that it was great to meet them and that I hope they have a fun time. They all have their photo and want to have their picture taken with me, Gino, me and Gino or just of themselves.
Onboard it’s great fun. George and Dimitri are already onboard. As are the tango dancers. They’re all below deck gearing up. Jelena decides it’s best to have the kids her kids inside the boat at all times as it’s just no safe for them to be in a position where they could lob themselves or each other overboard.
After 10 minutes when all the kids are running all over the whole of the boat some music starts playing up on the top deck. Jelena’s kids are breakdancing and giving it all that. The other kids, the ones living out in the camp we were at this morning, just look on in amazement. It was pretty obvious that they’d never seen anything like it.
All the kids are ordered downstairs for the entertainment. The tango dancers take the floor. They are poised. The kids look on. I begin to play and sing Amapola to which the dancers move. Then I play Tom Waits’ In The Neighbourhood. The kids seem to love it. Then George comes out and begins his magic show. It’s going great. Until, well kids just aren’t designed to be stationary if for long periods of time when there’s a whole boat to explore. They vote with their feet. Still some stay on and catch the second dance performance from the tango dancers. George does some more magic and then Dimitri comes on and does his bit. They’re very serious magicians. Then there’s the big finale which George insists we have all the kids in the room for. I miss it as I’m trying to negotiate with the captain to give us 10 minutes after docking so the kids can have good old dance. That’s all they want to do. The captain agrees, George’s finale is over and the kids are now on the floor ripping away. It’s great. I see the best thing I think I’ve seen all weekend: two very different kids from two different camps with surely two very different stories having a dance with each other. I think this is the one photo Sid never captured over the weekend. He was busy outside snapping other things and that was the trouble: there was too much to capture.
We dock and Milo and his kids head off home after we bid them farewell. Jelena has organised that her kids get to go to McDonalds. I walk the 100 or so kids through the centre of of Belgrade playing songs like 1999, The Sash - a song played by orangemen in Northern Ireland - and the theme music to Escape To Victory. The general public greats us with confused contentment.
We feed the kids and bring them back through the city centre and to the bus. Never played the banjo in the rain before. It sounds more thuddy than plinky. Say goodbye to kids and head off ourselves to Mirko’s.
Cup of tea and then Slobbo, Jasmina’s friend, pops up. Gino instantly suggests that I move out here and move in with Slobbo and the two of us live happily ever after. “Sure why not?”, he asks. Slobbo invites us all out for a drink so we leave Mirko to his soccer and jump into Slobbo’s brand new Yugo car. Didn’t know they still made them.
Slobbo is a fast driver and generally a very abrupt lady. A no-nonsense woman. The chemistry that Gino tells us all that exists between Slobbo and I cracks Sid up. We finish our drink and head back to Jelena’s to pick up her kids’ cameras. Slobbo’s a scary driver. It’s just the Serbian way.
We hang out with Jelena for a while. We’re late for her and we’re going to be late for George also. We been late all weekend. We have a laugh with Jelena and say sorry to George who’s been waiting out McDonalds for an hour. He doesn’t mind having been left to stand out in the freezing cold. He had Dimitri with him. We begin our trek to finding another place to have a beer.
After walking about two miles we walk by the Puz Theatre. It had the same gendarme (or whatever it is called) waiting in his portabox on the same street. Sid explains it’s the Naughty Box and we crack up for about another half a mile. We eventually arrive at the beer place. it’s an old house someone bought and then turned it into this bar-house. It’s truely ace. I play the piano and nobody shouts at me nor asks me to leave. until it’s closing time.
We say goodbye to George and Dimitri and head back to Mirko’s for the last night’s cup of tea and sleep. I get the bed this time.
