September 28, 2012
Fly The Serbian Skies

Somewhere between Belgrade and Istanbul, an old man of about 90+ sits next to me. It's a 7AM flight, so everyone's ordering orange juice and such. Not our man, though, he proudly orders a "Pivo!" The Turkish stewardess says with a huff, "I don't understand you, sir." "Pivo!" he says again. She grumbles, and I say, "Um, I think he wants a beer." (I became acquainted with this word in Prague and Bratislava, etc.) She shakes her head and goes to get him a beer, he smiles. For the rest of the flight I'm his best friend. Even if I don't understand a doggone thing he says. I'm thinking, yes, it's early but the guy has probably seen it all and wants what he wants and furthermore, doesn't CARE if anyone approves or not! She arrives with the suds and it disappears quickly. Our conversation consists mostly of "Pivo, Pivo!" and laughter. This guy is great. Damn, I wish I could have understood the stories he told me, I'm sure they were amazing. Later, I realized that he had a concentration camp number branded on his arm. Peace, -Todd

Posted by calico at September 28, 2012 09:20 AM
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