Once again, my well-worn clothes were carelessly thrown and appropriately squished into my backpack, somewhat empty promises to new-found friends of seeing one another again were exchanged and the usual fear of leaving something important behind crept into my brain. My hands performed the reflex routine of dancing around my bags, feeling for the essentials. Passport. Phone. Charger. Phew.
I was catching a plane from Belgrade to Milan to meet my parents for a week of chocolate and cheese in the Swiss countryside. With directions in hand, I made my way to the bus stop, eyes glued to the little moving blue dot on my phone. I was careful not to make a wrong turn because if there is one thing that absolutely terrifies me, it is missing a flight. When I arrived at what I thought was a bus stop, I asked a young girl if I was in the right place. She nodded. Relieved, I said thanks, taking advantage of the opportunity to use my appallingly limited one-word Serbian vocabulary. Sure enough, the bus arrived a few minutes later.
Some people formed a line at the front door while others got on in the middle. It was hot and my bags were heavy, so I too, decided to walk through the middle door, stupidly forgetting that I might need a ticket. I awkwardly placed down my heavy bags and found a seat from which I could watch over them. Before I could think about buying a ticket, an inspector was standing beside me, staring at me impatiently. Oh god. Here we go. I quickly decided the ‘dumb tourist’ trick was my best bet. I put on my most sparkly smile and tried buying a ticket from her. I handed her a sweaty ball of crumpled notes; the last of my Serbian money. She sighed, shook her head and beckoned her English-speaking colleague. Her colleague marched over; unimpressed and unsmiling. There was to be no messing around. She insisted I pay a fine of 2 000 dinah ($20) or she would call the police. My inner good-girl let out a cry. I felt my eyes widen. And my brain freeze. Police? As far as I knew, there was no chocolate or cheese at the police station. Again, I offered up the mash of money ($1.50) but explained that I would need an ATM to pay the rest. Her already impossibly stern face tightened.
The threat grew: she said that I must get off the bus with her. The bus came to a halt and she stood with one foot on the bus and one foot out; refusing to move until I got off the bus. Anxiety levels tripled, at least, while guilt hit an all-time high. I tried explaining that I couldn’t get off the bus because I would miss my flight. This caught the attention of the other passengers. Strangely, they were on my side. They started yelling at the ticket inspector in Serbian. It was amazing. But the lady wasn’t budging.
Every time I was about to give in and get off the bus, the elderly Serbian man next to me gestured for me to stay where I was. It must have gone on for 3 minutes or more. Then, something even more amazing happened. The young girl, who I had asked for directions from earlier, moved through the crowded bus towards me and passed me a small piece of paper. It was a ticket. “I have a ticket!” I exclaimed, Charlie-and-the-Chocolate-Factory-style. The whole bus erupted. Everyone started yelling, “Ticket! Ticket!” The ticket inspector shook her head in dismay. She had no choice but to get off. Begrudgingly, she removed her lone foot from the bus. Her head still shook in my direction as the bus pulled away from the curb. I was left sitting there, completely and utterly overwhelmed. And for the first time in one month of solo traveling, my vision blurred and my cheeks became wet with tears. Not due to sadness, but to confusion and thanks for a type of kindness I didnt know existed, let alone deserved.
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