New York, New York

Last night's fun did not stop with the bank. It continued with a trip to a jazz cafe with Rachel and a WiB activist, Nena (pronounced Nay-na). Nena is a spry sixty-eight years old. Rachel and I met her outside of her apartment. We then took a bus across the bridge to Zemun, a suburb of Belgrade. (I was told it used to be considered its own town, but now it is a part of Belgrade. Further research shows that it is actually one of the 17 municipalities that make up the City of Belgrade.) Zemun was historically a part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, whereas the other part of Belgrade was part of the Ottoman empire. Therefore, the architecture in Zemun is noticeably different. It suits my tastes much better than the architecture of gray, bland Belgrade. Nena grew up in Zemun and was able to point out some of the buildings where her friends had lived as she was growing up. Nena's friends were waiting for us at the cafe; they had saved us a table. The jazz band is made up of a random collection of musicians. They play every Tuesday evening at this cafe. Whoever shows up plays. Last night we had a pianist, three drummers (they took turns playing the drum set and the bongos), a man playing the banjo, a man playing the guitar, a trombone player, a clarinet, a trumpet, and a bass. All of the musicians were older men. Two were retired musicians (the trumpet and the trombone players), several were retired, and some had professional jobs (one was a psychologist and one a urologist). A saxophonist later joined the band after sitting in the table next to us for the first hour and a half. He pulled his instrument out from under the table and everyone immediately began clapping. Nena (who speaks very little English) warned Rachel and I that a lot of crazy grandmas would get up and dance around the room. Which they did. There were also several elderly couples dancing. It was more hilarious to watch Nena laughing at them dancing than to actually laugh at their dancing. There were only a few of them that were outlandish dancers. There was also some drunk old man who danced with one of Nena's friends. He also kept getting Rachel and I to dance with him. I found the best strategy was to avoid eye contact with him so that he would then focus his attentions on persuading Rachel to dance. Unfortunately, he really needed to zip his fly making his dramatic gestures (some of which included trying to kiss our hands, kneeling on one knee, and numerous others) all the more hilarious. The music was wonderful. They were obviously very talented musicians. The best part was the enjoyment they got from playing their instruments and playing together. None of them were getting paid so all of them were there out of their love for the music. The evening ended with a bizarre twist of a short, stocky man singing a song in Italian and a song in English (which everyone in the cafe singing along, or at least singing their own version of what the they thought the words should sound like). After he had finished the second song, the president of the musicians club got up to announce that he would be singing one extra song that night in honor of the American guests (Rachel and I). So he ended up belting out New York, New York with everyone in the cafe once again singing along in their badly accented English. I am looking forward to joining Nena again in the future. However, a return trip might have to be delayed for several months until I can learn enough Serbian to be able to interact with her without Rachel as our mediator/personal translator.