puppet show at NB this morning, breaking the monotony—and also the regular schedule that holds some of the kids here. as a result, H cried through the entire thing. to tell the truth, i didn't blame her. overt cheer is most melancholy.
no language class today, so i wandered around and ended up in Dorćol—northeast side of the semi-penninsulate outcropping of Stari Beograd, along the Dunav. stopped and read for a while. i'm on to Hemingway, having finished _A Thousand Acres_. how long before i'm doubling back on reading material remains a matter of uncertainty, but not that this will happen.
in response to the growing sense of isolation from world events, i found the British Council today—or, rather, actually ventured into the building after walking past it, usually after hours. speaking of books, they have a small library. more importantly, though, they get newspapers here. although it looks like only the Financial Times serves as daily fare, past issues of others (and magazines) are welcome. it's also nice to have a place to stop downtown, where i can do some work. so, now i'm writing this therein, on the second (first) floor which looks out past the twisted British and srpski flags onto downtown, plugged into the outlet (computer battery is proving somewhat weak). all they need here is unprotected wireless. (maybe i'll Britishly suggest it.)
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Perhaps we should send you books every now and again. The Beograd Airlift, or some such.
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