Belgrade Blues
When I was visiting Morocco a few weeks ago, Michael and I met a hilarious Serbian couple during our Sahara trip and camel trek. Djuka and Mila taught our group the Serbian word for 'cheers' (Živeli!) during our drinking games under the stars, but I never actually thought it would be practical or useful information.
As I have explored the Balkans over the past month, it became quite obvious that Serbia, especially Belgrade, would need to be on my list of regional destinations. Given that I had a few weeks before my return home for the American Thanksgiving holiday, I was anxious to fit in as much as I could in the region before I returned Stateside.
Alex had given Belgrade, known locally as Beograd, stunning reviews and I knew I wanted to experience it for myself. With a hostel reservation and tears in my eyes, I left Alex in Zagreb for Serbia.
My first two days in Belgrade were wonderful: new hostel friends, drinking and card games, a great Free Walking Tour, meals and hanging out with fellow travelers, a great night out at a local rakia bar and salsa club, and exploring the hipster bars and restaurants in the Bohemian District. It was great.
On my third night, everything changed. I woke up in the middle of the night in severe pain and discomfort and couldn't grasp what was going on inside of my body (spoiler alert: it was E. coli...). Being sick is never fun, but being sick in a hostel and a foreign country redefines less-than-desirable conditions for the ill.
Like anyone who finds themself suddenly ill, I was reviewing all of my choices from the previous days...was it that tenth shot of rakia or maybe inhaling that kebab after the salsa club? Did not drinking water for days on end really impact my body that much? Isn't endless coffee and beer enough to keep a body hydrated?
"If I get better, I swear I'll change my lifestyle!" I insisted to the hostel radiator that hummed indifferently next to my bunk. It didn't seem concerned with my emotional distress, nor my physical agony. Ugh, I thought, such a communist response.
I laid there writhing in pain until dawn while simultaneously waiting for medical advice from my friends Hailey and Mary Beth about what was wrong with me and how much time I had left in this world.
Why did I have to choose Belgrade? Do they have good doctors here? Do they even have doctors here? My mind raced through all of the post-war "Brain Drain" stories I had heard since my arrival in the Balkans. I was certain that I had heard that all of the good doctors left. I wonder if they have any bad doctors left. How bad is a bad doctor? Our bad doctors at home must be stellar in comparison to their best doctors. How bad is a bad doctor in the Balkans? I was having a full blown imperialist panic attack.
Luckily for me (this is honestly lacking my usual sarcasm), the hostel owner called and made an appointment for me at the nearby Serbian hospital and within a few hours I was on my way there.
After a day at the hospital filled with endless translations, a handful of bodily fluid samples and a subsequent fainting (real fainting; come on, I'm not that dramatic!), injections in a voluptuous lower region of my body, and having almost every employee adressing me by name (which they insisted was Kathryn instead of Kathleen), I was released back into the wild of Belgrade.
Exploring the medical system in the Balkans was certainly never on my list of "To Dos" when I came to the region. Due to my current physical state I'll remain here for a few days and regain my health, and hopefully have more exciting cultural information to share with everyone in a few days!