Hotel Jugo-Splavija vs. Buenos Aires

A Canadian friend of mine who is a journalist for a major international newspaper has lived in Belgrade for nearly eight months, and has yet to visit a single splav or "hot" night spot in Belgrade. He spends much of his free evenings hanging out with other foreigners at a certain café in Silicon Valley where the waiters wear kilts, wondering why he and the others are bored to death. One evening as I was passing by they saw me and persuaded me to join them for a few moments. They were doing tricks with drinking straws on the bar. One English correspondent from a world-renowned news service was particularly adept at a trick lifting two straws with one straw. It seemed that the more beer he drank, the better he got at it.

In any event, my Canadian friend was getting sick of the waiters-in-kilts scene and wanted to visit the famous Belgrade splavovi he had heard so much about. As we all know, Belgrade is world famous (in the Balkans) for its energetic nightlife, its many cafes, clubs, bars and restaurants. The attraction of these places is somewhat difficult for me to understand, but I will briefly attempt to describe what is so compelling about them. These night spots offer people the opportunity to crowd very tightly together into incredibly tight spaces, pose, laugh loudly, pose, send sms messages, pose, chain smoke nervously, pose and consume large quantities of liquor at exorbitant prices, all the while pretending that they are having a really, really, really, really good time.

So last night a Serbian friend (yes, I do actually have Serbian friends) and I decided we would organize a group of people to take Mr. Canada on a tour of the splavovi. The program was very ambitious. We were to all meet at at Pevac on Obilivec Venac, and then we would go to Blaywatch, Sound, Freestyling, Ambis, and end up on Crni Panteri. I wasn't really looking forward to this: I heard that Blaywatch had covered their once infamous swimming pool and introduced Karaoke turbo-folk, which I believe is forbidden by the Geneva Convention against torture.

But fortune smiled upon us and mother nature intervened: it was very cold, and rain was falling intermittently. As a result our plans changed, and we decided it was a little too cool for the splavovi.

That was actually a big relief, because with the exception of Black Panther, all the other places are nearly identical and rather bez veze -- you can tell a place is bez veze when the men stand together in drunken groups hugging each other and sticking their arms up in the air…..

The evening's plans were essentially ruined. So what to do for Mr. Canada? How do you escape the poseurs, the self-centered nervous "beautiful people", all of whom lack self-confidence and substance. Where does one find authenticity in Belgrade? Where is the real Belgrade hiding? I convinced Mr. Canada to try a different type of experience. For the sake of anonymity, and to prevent the place from being ruined, I shall call it "Club Q".

For those of you who know Belgrade, you are aware that the real Belgrade "night life" takes place either inside people's homes, where one gathers with friends and family, or in the confines of semi-private specialty clubs.

"Club Q" is a part of the "real Belgrade." The people are real. No poseurs. No phonies. No chain smoking nervous people glancing constantly at their mobile phones. The atmosphere is relaxed, people know each other, and they often speak of a common drug that most have experienced and continued to experience, a drug that is unfortunately not available in Belgrade. But most of the people there seem to have tried this drug at least once, and many have been steady users for decades. I personally first tried this drug when I was eight years old and have been addicted ever since. My drug of choice was made by Herreshoff……

The evening was pleasant and relaxed, and about 02:00 men and women began to trickle in. The women wore elegant dresses, were beautifully made up, and the men were dressed as Latin lovers. And then the music started and transported us to Buenos Aires.

They had come to dance, without pretense, without nervousness. No one was self-conscious. Handsome men and beautiful women. Most of them Serbs. For the next two hours I had the privilege of watching them perform what is perhaps the most beautiful art form known to man: the Tango. A synthesis of rhythm, grace, fluidity, elegance, passion and sensuality, all painted by human beings on a wooden parquet canvass. As they glided effortlessly and silently to the Argentinean rhythms, one couldn't help but notice the trust and silent communication between partners, as they drifted across the room.

For a moment they appeared as sailboats, moving across a dark wooden sea, coming about effortlessly, raising and lowering sails, furling and unfurling the genoas, raising and lowering the main and mizzen sails, unfurling and raising the spinnaker and top side gallants, as the winds from Astor Piazzolla's accordion filled their sails and propelled them to that brief moment of bliss that lingers forever in your memory. That is the moment when the boat heels over on its side and charges forward as the spray hits your face, and everything else becomes irrelevant.

There is something captivating about watching the Tango in Belgrade. It seems somehow appropriate, almost as if it is a Balkan national dance. I wonder sometimes why it isn't more popular here….it is certainly well suited to the temperament and attitudes of the people. And like the Serbian people, it is a truly beautiful dance.

And that is one small part of the real Belgrade, the Belgrade you won't find on the splavovi or down in Silicon Valley.

As I left, shortly before dawn, my thoughts were full of what I had seen, how normal life can be, how normal people can be, how wonderful true beauty can be and how it can fill the soul. And then I found that the pauk had taken my car….