This weekend turned out to be great for conversation! On the way to Devil's Town (those stone pillars near the Kosovo border), I spotted an old guy hitchhiking with bags of cherries and other vegetables. Figured I'd give him a ride—it was on my way anyway. Turns out he'd missed his bus.

As thanks, I dragged Rade back to my place for a cup of coffee. And I gotta say, not every café makes coffee this good.

If I manage to live to his age (he's 74 now), I hope I'm just as full of life. We mostly spoke Serbian—well, he spoke Serbian and I spoke this Serbian-Russian mix. But Rade still remembers the basics of English and German pretty well. Even knows a few words of Arabic. So whenever Serbian wasn't cutting it, we'd mix in a few different languages. Back in the day, he was an engineer, spent a year studying in Germany, and even had work trips to Iraq. He lived through the Yugoslav Wars. Now he spends summers here—nature, fresh air, peace and quiet. Winters in Belgrade though.

He pointed to his head and said the main thing is to keep the old noggin sharp, and everything else will fall into place (:"