I was sweating from both the heat inside the police station and the unknown process that lay ahead of me. As I sat in the waiting area in the hallway, I watched as cop after cop walked out of the office taking a drag from their cigarettes right at the “No Smoking” sign.
When I had been given my emergency passport, the embassy woman told me: “Now you have to go back to the foreigners’ office at the police station and get a stamp for you new passport.”
Dutifully, I went down to the office, walked into the door I had entered two evenings before and announced the situation, “Hey, I need to get a stamp on my new passport.” I handed the officer behind the desk the new passport and the police report from Sunday night about the theft.
“Hold on one minute,” he said. As I stood there for a second, the officer told me: “you can wait outside.”
Crap I thought. I had not wanted to relinquish this passport to anyone – government official or not. But, alas, if this makes me leave quicker I’ll accept it. So I had gone out to wait in the hallway, watching the police smoke cigarettes past the “No Smoking” sign.
After about five minutes, the officer who had told me to wait outside came from his office. “I spoke with my colleague who filled out the initial report.”
“yes, yes” I said, “nice guy!”
“Yeas, I don’t know him well. But, he said that there is a receipt form that needs to be filed in this case. You need to return between 13 hundred and 15 hundred, Tuesday to Friday to sign this receipt form at room 44. Then you will be clear to leave our country.” He paused as I listened to him. “Do you need to write this down?”
“No, room 44, 1 to 3 tomorrow,” I said.
“Yes,” he said handing my passport. “So, tomorrow, you return to sign the receipt form?”
“Da,” I smiled knowing that I had no intention of ever returning to this police station if I could help it.
*******
As long as I was on my bike, I had had no issues. I mean were basic problems dealing with my complete lack of knowledge of the local language – Greek, Italian or Croatian. And, I had had the minor problem entering Italy. But, it wasn’t until I got into Serbia without my bike (selling it in Zagreb) that the shit hit the fan.
On Saturday, July 25, I left Zagreb for a grueling train trip across the Balkans. I had to take a bus from Camp-Plitvice into Zagreb, change to a tram into the center and then get onto a train to Belgrade; change in Belgrade for the train to Sofia. Once in Sofia I had eight hours to make my way from the train station to the airport.
Part one of the trip went off without a hitch – except for having to run for the bus into the tram station. I got onto the train to Beograd and was off to catch my plane into Sofia.
So I went to dinner in Belgrade. Then I got the night train to Sofia.
That’s where the shit hit the fan.
At the stop before the border, I was awoken by people entering my compartment. That’s when I realized what happened. My bag was gone. In the bag were several important items.
1. Train ticket
2. Jesse Bear
3. Writing Journal
4. Refrigerator Magnets from Greece and Croatia (and one from Italy)
5. Charger for my camera
6. Money
7. Appalachian Mountain Club Nalgene
8. Passport
9. Toiletries
Now without any of these I was stuck. The train guys and the people in my compartment helped me search the train for my bag – but to no avail. We did find the passport of a Portuguese guy who had had his bag stolen as well.
So, I had to get off the train in Dimitrovgrad – at the Bulgarian border. Then, it was the long 9 hour train trip back to Beograd. Uhnn…
Upon, return to the capital of Serbia, I tried to get a hostel room. But this requires a passport. So, I needed some document from the police in order to get a hostel room.
With directions to the police station, I scampered down the streets of Belgrade. I went into the “foreigners’ office” only to be told I needed to talk to the real cops. Well, this is when the whole thing got a little surreal.
I was led into the bowels of the Serbian police station and sat in a barren office with one guy sitting there working on a computer and smoking beneath a clearly marked “No Smoking” sign. As I sat there quietly he continued writing.
In my mind I’m thinking: “Shit, I’m deep in a Serbian Police Station and nobody knows I’m here!”
Another officer entered, giving me a dirty look and handed the smoking man some forms to sign. Smoking man signs the forms slowly and deliberately, glancing toward me every now and then but no actually acknowledging me.
Finally he’s done signing the forms and the other officer leaves. I sit there quietly for a second and then say: “You know, I don’t have to report the money if it would make things easier…”
“I am investigative detective [didn’t catch the name]. I am in charge of investigation for this station. Now, how much money was lost?”
My goal had been to make the money as unimportant as possible. All I really wanted was a piece of paper saying my passport was stolen so that I could get a hostel bed: “280 euros.” (It was really 580).
“Let me see you’re papers.”
So I handed him my state ID and my Harvard ID.
“What about you’re passport?”
“That was stolen; that’s the real reason I’m here.”
Now investigative detective didn’t-catch-his-name rolls his eyes. “Where did this happen?”
“On the train going to Sofia.”
“At the Belgrade Station?”
“No, no near the Bulgarian border.”
Well, this back and forth continues for a while, whilst he attempts to ascertain how it was this Yankee was sitting at his desk. Finally, I was able to get all the information to him. He checks on me over the phone calling me “Yankee scum” several times.
“What is you’re employment?”
“Oh, I’m a teacher and a writer.”
“Hmmm…are you sure you are not a spy?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Because, you know: You bomb us in ‘99.”
Aww…fuck, this is something I hoped wouldn’t have come up.
“All Serbians assume all Americans are spies. And in Belgrade they do not like Panathenikos, we are Olympicos fans here.”
So, I took off my hat and then tried to explain that I probably wouldn’t be there if I were a spy. But this really didn’t help much.
So, after two hours in the Serbian police station, I finally get my police report stating that my passport was stolen and I returned to the hostel. The woman takes my report begrudgingly and gives me my room assignment. I go to the room drop off my shit and go to the internet café to get some help.
So, I spent the next two days in Belgrade just wandering around the city and waiting for my new passport to get straightened out. I had issues, in that Belgradians do no like Americans – at all. But to be fair “You bomb us in ’99.”
Then on Tuesday, I finally got everything in order and had my new passport! Yay! The passport office then sent me to the Police Office to get my new “entry stamp” that would allow me to leave Serbia – that’s when the officer told me to return the next day, yeah right.
On Wednesday, I flew out of Serbia to Zurich – finally leaving the country without Ainje.
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