The Games People
Play
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
My journey to
The Balkans began in Havana where I met the
American psychiatrist Ira Goldwasser and his
lovely wife of 45 years in my hotel. ‘Come
and stay with us in Amsterdam’ his wife said.
I kept their card for 5 years and one day I did.
That’s a story of rejection and
insincerity for another vignette.
I returned to
Amsterdam with the Italian I mistakenly thought I
was in love with for a romantic weekend. We had
time, after devouring delicious Argentinean
steaks, to drop into the historic Magna Mall. I
only wanted to peek in to see the Moorish
architecture but for some unknown reason Franco
ascended the escalator to the first floor. Odd as
he hated shopping for clothes and the mall was
full of trendy fashion labels like Hugo Boss and
Paul Smith. I had to follow my man! The escalator
ended right outside a stunning jewellery gallery.
I actually gasped. Never had I seen such gorgeous
jewellery. Gold and Silver metal hooped chains
and chokers intertwined with ravishing colourful
semi precious stones. Franco was bored of course
and waited outside while I had a ‘jewellery
orgasm’ running from showcase to showcase to
photograph the displays. The glamorous proprietor
of the gallery had bought the franchise from the
owner of the enterprise, Ljilijana Cukelj Cakic
from Zagreb, Croatia but living in Belgrade who
happened to be there to help with the opening at
6.00 pm that same evening. I had my eye on the
clock as we had a flight to catch back to London
even though we were invited to the opening.
Being in the
costume jewellery business myself, the
beautifully displayed bespoke pieces spoke to me.
In a rush I bought a gold and inter-locking
sautoir and was delighted to receive a matching
pair of earrings as a gift. I was in
Serbian jewellery heaven. The attractive Dutch
owner then introduced me to the creator of the
range who allowed me to take photos of what I now
call ‘The Balkan Collection’ from
Belgrade. Ljilijana known as Lily and I exchanged
business cards. Off I rushed with Franco who was
completely unenthusiastic about my enthusiasm.
Back in
Brighton I checked out Lily’s ethical
website. It was interesting but I did not like
the models who were her customers rather than
professionals. However, I wrote to her saying
that I liked and believed in what she was doing
for women in Serbia. Lily called me immediately
and suggested I come to Belgrade! The capital was
not on my bucket list but nearby Bosnian Sarajevo
was, so I planned a trip to mix business and
pleasure. All I could say in Serbian was ‘How
are you?’ and ‘Well or good’
taught to me by an old friend, Svetlana. I
excitedly got down to making reservations through
Airbnb who were in their infancy. In the
old days, one could write to the host and ask
questions before paying. No more, it is questions
after payment!
I love traditional places full of antiques having
been an antique dealer for 30 years in London and
Paris. On Airbnb I found a beautiful flat with
Charlotte and asked questions like how to get to
Sarajevo from Belgrade. I would be flying into
Zagreb on Easyjet so how to get to Belgrade from
the Zagreb airport. Charlotte, who seemed to work
in Brussels at times was so helpful in excellent
English. She told me to use Belgrade based Geo
Tours who ran cheap mini buses all over The
Balkans for a mere E25. Little did I know
then that her flat was seconds from Lily’s
shop in the pedestrian area. I explained to
Charlotte that I would staying a week, going for
5 nights to Sarajevo and then needed to have one
last night back in Belgrade to catch an early
morning minibus back to Zagreb.
I was so
surprised when she traced me knowing my full name
and wrote privately saying, as she travelled so
much herself, she could book me direct and even
wrote she would not charge me for the last night.
That way she could avoid the commission fees and
I would pay cash in Euros as she worked in
Brussels for the EU and therefore needed Euros.
How kind I
thought. Not knowing her taste, I wrote and asked
her what she would like from England. She
surprised me by saying board games as she played
games with her international friends. Easy Peasy!
I had originally been a games and dexterity
vintage puzzle dealer between London and Paris
for 15 years so games I knew very well and it was
my pleasure. I rushed around the charity shops,
overdoing it, and bought about 10 English boxed
board games. To this I added a chic Paris
notebook, Belgian chocolates, a British fridge
magnet, a silk scarf and English gourmet biscuits
wanting to make a good generous impression. After
all she had promised one night free, hadn’t
she?
The journey
was interesting with synchronicity which will be
written about in another vignette. I arrived at
the lovely atmospheric traditional flat, housed
in what had once been a bank, on the first floor
with elegant marble steps behind a metal gate for
privacy. That gate was to play a part in the
Belgrade saga!
I had my own
bedroom off the kitchen. There was a
traditionally mahogany furnished salon with 2
well placed sofas on either side of a glass low
coffee table and a desk where Charlotte
constantly worked on her computer and laptop. Her
business card had the blue British designed EEC
logo.
I placed all
the games and gifts on the large low coffee table.
She was very pleased and as I was her first
ever guest, invited me out for a welcome dinner
at ‘The Little Bay’ restaurant. By
coincident we had one in Brighton with opera
singers so I knew the quaint style. It was there
she confessed that she had 2 names, Charlotte and
Farida, that in fact she was Algerian but had
lived in Quebec for many years speaking French
perfectly as Charlotte. One would describe her
facially as unattractive and heavily overweight,
very badly dressed in insipid colours not caring
about her appearance. I don’t believe she
had spoken about her life for quite some time and
had verbal diarrhoea. Her Canadian partner had
betrayed her after 10 years and so she had to
leave Quebec and start a new life in Brussels
which somehow led to a few years Sofia, Bulgaria
and her final resting place, Belgrade. She had
only just arrived as her best friend was in the
capital with her husband and child, her extended
family as she had no children of her own.
Her flat was
gracious in the heart of the one kilometre Street
Knez Mihailova, the hub of the city and right
round the corner from Lily’s shop into the
bargain. I was made most welcome with a copious
breakfast including fresh daily bread from the
bakery opposite. Everything was perfect from
Monday to Saturday night. We had delicious
fattening cakes at the Moskva Hotel and I made
some videos. Then disaster struck!
She had never
been to the gypsy market and I wanted to go on
Sunday to see how the Serbian gypsies lived.
Charlotte agreed with her friend’s husband
on Saturday night when we all met for a pasta,
that he would drive us. Sunday dawned and
Charlotte was cheerful until she got a phone call
that his child was sick and he obviously could
not go. Charlotte became irritable but
nevertheless ordered a cab to go at her expense
to the market. When we got to where the taxi
driver thought it was and dropped us off in a
distant suburb, she discovered it was still
further away and we had to take yet another taxi.
Charlotte or had Farida emerged by this time was
getting more silent by the moment and sulking.
Was this Ferida or Charlotte I was with?
We arrived. It
was desolate with no local Serbians let alone
foreigners. I decided to video the stands and
poor quality second hand clothes placed on the
ground. I strode on ahead towards the vegetable
and fruit section with the lingering ugly lump
moving slowly behind loathing the place and all
the gypsies, desperate to go back to the city.
Yes I was selfish, I wanted to take more photos
and videos. Gypsies were sniggering at us so in
the end it was uncomfortable. We left by another
taxi in silence. I was meeting charming Lily and
one of her friends Gordana in a busy Americanised
restaurant that evening. They could not believe
what I showed them on my iPhone was part of
Belgrade! A middle class world miles apart from
the poor gypsy world.
The next day,
Monday, Charlotte had kindly organised my Geo
Tours pickup to Sarajevo. She did not say anyone
else would be in my bedroom and so I confess I
put did not tidy up too much. I left most of my
clothes in my big case, taking a small one with
me for the 6 night stay with Airbnb Janina. I
would be back Sunday afternoon to stay the last
night at no charge, so she had promised, before
helping me after a very early breakfast, down the
difficult marble stairs to the minibus to Zagreb
airport. I recall for some reason I borrowed a
collapsible umbrella of hers.
I had a
wonderful time in Sarajevo and Mostar and, as the
Geo bus was leaving from Sarajevo, it seemed
senseless to call Charlotte in Belgrade to
arrange the transport back so I asked Janina as
she was local. This seemed logical but not to
Charlotte alias Ferida. I received a curt text
from her obvious furious that I no longer needed
her help and she would no longer help because her
English was not good enough and she was stupid! I
still have her abrupt text on my phone to this
day!
I arrived back
as arranged mid Sunday afternoon to find her
living room door closed meaning she was there but
did not want to see me. I could hear her tapping
away on the computer. When I entered my room I
was horrified to find a note pinned to the
wardrobe door listing the return of every gift I
had given her. ‘You cannot buy friendship’
the note said! I was not trying to buy her
friendship! The games were a gift because I
understood she was not charging me for the last
night, the other things like Belgian chocolates,
a big jar of aivar that someone had given me, a
notebook from Paris with the Eiffel Tower and a
key ring from London were gifts from my heart,
all neatly put in the wardrobe with the games and
her request for me to return her umbrella!
Apparently she was upset I had not put my
suitcase in the wardrobe so I had been, in her
eyes, disrespectful.
She left her
bill including the extra night, going back on her
promise but said she would keep to her word and
give me breakfast helping me down the stairs with
the case. I discovered that she had lied to me
about playing board games with friends because
during that week I commented on an extra empty
room and she explained she would be setting up a
games club and charging membership! I was not
going to take the games back to England nor the
heavy jar of aivar. What to do?
I crossed the
hall and knocked on the door of her neighbour
Pedrag’s second flat where he housed his
antique books having closed his prestigious
bookshop, a story to be told separately. Pedrag’s
surprised son and assistant opened the door to
see a distressed Jilliana with chocolates, a big
glass jar of aivar and a bag full of games! I did
not go into detail but asked him to find a good
home for the English games. He promised he would
try and took my email. I was relieved and went to
bed early upset by the emergence of a
schizophrenic Ferida!
The last
morning dawned, the closed door finally open to
the no longer beautiful salon. Everything had
changed. Gone was the charm. The position of the
sofa and the low coffee table had been moved with
the desk and the second sofa, that had been
opposite the coffee table, was now clumsily
placed along the opposite wall near her desk. The
enchantment of the room had gone. It was
conventional without the warmth comfortable
homely charm I had photographed and videoed.
Ferida had overthrown Charlotte who told me at
the beginning of the week that her landlord loved
antiques, had decorated the flat himself and
swore that she had not touched a thing! Now
tasteless Algerian Ferida had destroyed that cozy
ambience.
I paid her
bill and silently we descended the stairs. She
coldly and insincerely wished me ‘Bon Voyage’
and that was that! Never again will I
collude with an Airbnb host. However, months
later I received a delightful ‘Thank you’
email from a Belgrade school, in excellent
English, saying how thrilled they were with the
games they had been given!
I smiled
thinking of the games people play!
Written
in the Sofitel Santa Clara hotel, Cartagena,
Colombia on 20.2.18 and updated on 1.3.18 in
Bocagrande.
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