Tuesday April 29 2008

I headed back to Brodos to deliver the good news and we began sizing up our provisions. We had:

- Half a bottle of water each
- Eight small bottles of Schnapps
- A large pack of Swedish chocolate wafer biscuits
- Some dried reindeer meat
- A small tin of licorice pastilles

This was beyond horrible. This was a disaster. We had everything we needed to help us forget our troubles, in the form of chocolate and Schnapps, but they were not ours to consume We were mere custodians of these gifts, a cultural exchange between Sweden and Serbia, and there was a principle to uphold.

In terms of fluids, that left us with our depleted bottles of water - helpful to have, what with water being essential to maintain human life, but little use to our yawning bellies. And so we turned to our lump of dried reindeer meat - an oddity from Northern Sweden which Maddok regularly received in the post from his mother - and the little pack of licorice, which I had only kept out of a morbid desire to remember something of the terror of Scandinavian sweets.

Brodos and I pondered our situation. He hates licorice and I don't eat meat, so that was that. Rations assigned by default. He took out his delicacy and sawed off a small chunk with his teeth, grimacing. The expression on his face was one I'd expect to see on that of a man eating wood. I opened my tin and appraised the 20 or so tiny pastilles within. Eight hours. Eight hours. Shit.

As a child, I had laughed more than once at the similarity between "Hungary" and "hungry". Whatever negative karma that had generated at the time was now being repaid in full as we crossed the border into the country.

Our credentials were checked by a pair of non-uniformed border guards who looked and acted like something from an Eastern European knock-off of Miami Vice. They asked us if we had any cocaine, and it was tough to tell whether they would have been upset if we had said yes. They seemed like the kind of guards who might have wanted to sell us some of their own. As we handed over our passports, Brodos and I were clearly having the same thought: these people could be anybody. I tensed a little, ready to leap after them if they ran off.

It didn't prove necessary, which was lucky, because I think they were armed.

I gazed down the platform and saw something that could have been a food shop, just one medium-distance run away. But there were no more trains to Belgrade that day. I couldn't take the risk of this one pulling away while I was buying chocolate. I climbed back on board and sat down, mournfully popping a licorice pastille into my mouth.

Did I mention, by the way, just how unpleasant they were? I should have. They were very unpleasant.

Next week: Belgrade at last.

Read from the start:
A Geek Adventure