Read, Write, Run, Roam

Walk a Balkan Mile in My Shoes


Some people think that living in Serbia requires sacrifice. They think it’s nothing but mangy surroundings (wrong), eating potatoes and cabbage (double wrong) and living among people who don’t speak English or like Americans (super wrong.) Yet I have made a couple of “soleful” sacrifices here: namely, the shoes I’ve loved and lost on the great streets of Belgrade.

Brown flat boots, I was so glad I brought you in my suitcase. Everyone was wearing some version of you and I managed to fit right in. Except for that whole I’m-not-tall or look-like-a-supermodel thing. But still. You helped—so much that the actual boots are at an obucar and could not be photographed.

Galoshes, every woman asked if I brought you along. I had no idea why they were so concerned. Then the fall rain arrived, followed by snow and constant slush. You became essential. Lesson learned.

Diesel sneakers on the left, you are gotovo. You were already old when we arrived, but then I wore you all over the streets of Belgrade and back again. (I used to get lost here. A lot.) When Milos arrived, you also became my dog-walking sneaker. Now you are ripped and have no tread. Thanks for the memories.

Shower shoe on the right, you were a casualty of a young Milos. At least you were cheap and I never wore you outside. Sorry.

Yellow heels, I love you. I thought you were perfect for Belgrade summer—everyone wears colorful heels here—but then Muz announced that we should walk everywhere, even if it took 45 minutes. Maybe next summer?

Shorter black heels, you replaced the yellow ones. One pair has already been resoled; patent leather ones, you’re next. Obucar, you can thank me for your vikendica later.

Flats…what can I say? I’ve worn you everywhere. You’ve been to 15 countries outside of Serbia this year. I’ve worn you on Barcelona’s beaches, Croatian caves, and Italian hillsides.  (Of course I would find places where flats were inappropriate.) Sandals and brown flats, you’re shot, but the black ones miraculously live on. The moral of this story? When you see Geox at DSW Shoes, buy them.

Finally, my dear, dear running shoes. Do you miss me? Remember when I was going to train really hard for a marathon? I know, that WAS pretty funny. Ha! Okay, stop laughing. I mean it. Stop.

Thanks for all your support, shoes. I couldn’t have gotten through Belgrade without you.

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2 responses

  1. Pingback: Do Serbs Like Americans?

  2. BD

    Love the darling Milos!

    October 20, 2011 at 4:57 am

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