I confess, I’m an unapologetic leech on Belgrade’s public transportation system. For the first few months I was here, I was careful to always buy tickets (about 30 dinars) and conscientiously punched them like a good citizen for every single ride. After a few times where I wasn’t able to do so, I discovered the cheap thrill of trying to spot and evade bus controllers as they get on, thinking I was some sort of Jason Bourne super-sneaky illegal bus rider. As if. Over enough time without ever seeing one though, I started to let my guard down more often, and ended being busted a few times.
Nowadays, I never bother with tickets. While I agree that somebody has to pay for the privilege of public transportation, and tickets are just a form of taxation, I figure that I basically balance out, karmically and financially speaking, with those rare occasions when I do get caught and fined. The amount I pay then is probably relatively close to what I would pay if I was still buying tickets for every ride. And yes, I know you can get more useful month-long passes, but really, I just can’t be bothered to go battle the bureaucracy down at the GSP center to get this done. I’m sure there are many elusive stamps to obtain and many absurd, made up reasons why foreigners shouldn’t/can’t ride the buses to dispute.
I use the buses/trolleys/trams daily and go all over the place in the city, and statistically speaking, I have to conclude there just aren’t that many controllers working the lines. I often go for months at time without ever seeing a single one. However, when it rains, it pours. My luck with the controllers is kind of like that old urban myth about plane crashes, and how they always come in threes. When I do get caught, it usually happens 2-3 times in the same week. Maybe there are controller “surges” or they have to fill end-of-the-month quotas or something, and thus intensify their efforts in certain periods.
When you get busted, you can pay the fine on the spot, which costs roughly just under 2000 dinars, or you can have them mail you your fine, a more expensive but convenient alternative.
I would say I’ve been busted about 5 or 6 times total in my 2 years + here. The first time, I paid it on the spot, thinking that was the only thing you could do. Once I learned you could have your fine mailed to you, I went with that option for the next 2 or 3 times.
On one occasion, I had a particularly bad time with a highly aggressive and persistent controller who categorically refused to write me the mail-in fine. He *insisted* that I pay on the spot, or I was going straight to jail. He was big, mean, rude and very persuasive, and I was taken by surprise and embarrassed about having an argument in English with him on the crowded 31 bus, so I didn’t put up much of a fight and ended up actually taking him to an ATM where I withdrew the necessary funds. He was a mean fucker, and I should have known better, since I was actually within my rights and he was just pushing for some fast cash, he didn’t even write me a receipt for the ticket.
The next control, I was again pushed for cash up front, but having learned my lesson from the previous time (which occurred, karmically again, just days before, so I was fresh with outrage over having been possibly cheated before and just generally treated rudely, and thus was in better fighting form), I knew the law was indeed on my side and was able to argue my case successfully. I was rather proud of myself. It went something like this:
“You must pay!”
“I don’t have enough cash, just write me the ticket and send it to this address” (show white police registration card).
“No, I can’t send it to you, this is not your name (pointing to my landlady’s name on the card), it is your mistake, not hers, you must pay now.”
“Neeee, I know the law, and you must write me the ticket by mail if I can’t pay.”
“As you wish, I call police now.”
“Yes, that is a good idea, you do that, and I will call my lawyer, and he will call his friend at the police station, who also knows me personally, and then we will see who has better “veza” (connections) in this city, ah?” (pull out phone and start dialing).
I was *totally* bluffing, but I didn’t flinch for a second or let my body language show any sign of distress, and it worked. He thought about it all for a second, decided I wasn’t bullshitting, grunted and wrote up the ticket and receipt with a nasty look. I win!
That was many months ago, and since then I haven’t had any encounters with controllers. It was the latest one that ambushed me just yesterday that made me think of this whole pointless drivel.
I was minding my own business on the bus, and suddenly a wallet with an ID is thrust in my face. Obviously, I have no ticket. Busted. I didn’t say a word, and nonchalantly just handed him my white card and ID (from a foreign country, full of confusing, hard-to-read detailed info in English) and hoped he would get the idea and just write me the ticket. He scanned both documents for a good long minute, handed them back to me, and…
Walked away. I looked up at him at that moment like “huh?” and, lo and behold, he actually smiled and *winked* at me as he walked away. Cool! I win again.
Although, I think someone needs English lessons…
Incidentally, that encounter set off a bizarre sort of chain reaction, as no less than three other random people *winked* at me in the course of that same day, in different situations. Good hair day, I guess.
That’s pretty much all I have to say about being controlled on the bus. Oh yeah, that, and the fact that none of the mailed fines have ever actually reached my mailbox, for some reason :)
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Mid-day disaster under Terazije
The very center of Belgrade, Terazije, is a large type of avenue where several major streets converge, and it has a couple of undergound passages for pedestrians to get across the main street without stopping traffic. Some Belgraders jokingly refer to these as the city's Metro system.
These underground passages contain a handful of stores and the occasional street performer or gypsy beggar, but mostly an ever-constant flow of people moving all around. You can also find, on most days, a small group of pirates plying their trade down there.
Media pirates, that is. They sell every possible movie that is out in theatres or ever made, new video games, etc. Although copyright laws have officially caught up with Serbia and made this business illegal, it still thrives in Belgrade, and Serbia in general remains (allegedly, but I don't know how anyone would quantify something like this) one of the world's most active "pirating" countries. CDs sell for 200 dinars, and you if you buy five you get one free (or so I've heard, ahem...)
Although the crew down there does fine business, and it is no big secret to *anyone* who spents about 2 hours in the center of Belgrade that they are there, they still apparently operate on the foul side of the law, which I realized finally when I witness a particularly humorous incident.
I was simply crossing the passage as I do every day for some reason or another, and right as I was walking past the CD stand, a relatively loud alarm sounded. I realized later this was from a talkie walkie, and it was a warning from some lookout on the street. "Panduri!" (COPS!) one of the sellers shouted.
Instantly, the CD vendors slammed closed their entire apparatus (basically two gigantic cardboard boxes that open up like a book and allow them to lay the CDs out) and ran for dear life into one of the shops right nearby. No exagerration, it was all so sudden I was momentarily alarmed that something dangerous was happening.
Only, one of them was a bit too hasty and... Tripped, dropping the entire large box and vomiting CD cases all over the entire passage, like a cardboard cluster bomb splaying plastified shrapnel everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE. It was really a spectacular fall and fumble.
A whole slew of cursing and swearing was heard all around from him, his colleagues, and the two women who were working the "hideout" shop, before they all got down on all fours and started frantically gathering up CD cases. Some people actually helped them, some grabbed some CDs for themselves, some laughed or sympathized with "uuuuuh, jebote..." (oh snap!), some just ignored the whole mess like it never happened.
The CDs were picked up in stunning time though. I think a food relief van in a Sudanese refugee camp wouldn't be pillaged so quickly, but they pulled it off somehow, and the last guy ran into the store with his arms overflowing with CDs *just* as a pair of policemen walked down the stairs into the passage. The two female accomplices had already lit cigarettes and put on a show of smoking them and looking bored in the doorway of the store. 5 seconds slower, and they would have all been busted.
I found the whole thing quite surprising and amusing. I had no idea that these people were taking such risks by selling their wares down there, but I guess that's the only conclusion one can draw in the face of such panic. Not to mention how organized the whole thing was, I mean, really, lookouts in the street?
Still, they continue to sell every day, so I guess their precautions work for them. I have no idea what happens if you get "busted" with pirated software in Belgrade.
These underground passages contain a handful of stores and the occasional street performer or gypsy beggar, but mostly an ever-constant flow of people moving all around. You can also find, on most days, a small group of pirates plying their trade down there.
Media pirates, that is. They sell every possible movie that is out in theatres or ever made, new video games, etc. Although copyright laws have officially caught up with Serbia and made this business illegal, it still thrives in Belgrade, and Serbia in general remains (allegedly, but I don't know how anyone would quantify something like this) one of the world's most active "pirating" countries. CDs sell for 200 dinars, and you if you buy five you get one free (or so I've heard, ahem...)
Although the crew down there does fine business, and it is no big secret to *anyone* who spents about 2 hours in the center of Belgrade that they are there, they still apparently operate on the foul side of the law, which I realized finally when I witness a particularly humorous incident.
I was simply crossing the passage as I do every day for some reason or another, and right as I was walking past the CD stand, a relatively loud alarm sounded. I realized later this was from a talkie walkie, and it was a warning from some lookout on the street. "Panduri!" (COPS!) one of the sellers shouted.
Instantly, the CD vendors slammed closed their entire apparatus (basically two gigantic cardboard boxes that open up like a book and allow them to lay the CDs out) and ran for dear life into one of the shops right nearby. No exagerration, it was all so sudden I was momentarily alarmed that something dangerous was happening.
Only, one of them was a bit too hasty and... Tripped, dropping the entire large box and vomiting CD cases all over the entire passage, like a cardboard cluster bomb splaying plastified shrapnel everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE. It was really a spectacular fall and fumble.
A whole slew of cursing and swearing was heard all around from him, his colleagues, and the two women who were working the "hideout" shop, before they all got down on all fours and started frantically gathering up CD cases. Some people actually helped them, some grabbed some CDs for themselves, some laughed or sympathized with "uuuuuh, jebote..." (oh snap!), some just ignored the whole mess like it never happened.
The CDs were picked up in stunning time though. I think a food relief van in a Sudanese refugee camp wouldn't be pillaged so quickly, but they pulled it off somehow, and the last guy ran into the store with his arms overflowing with CDs *just* as a pair of policemen walked down the stairs into the passage. The two female accomplices had already lit cigarettes and put on a show of smoking them and looking bored in the doorway of the store. 5 seconds slower, and they would have all been busted.
I found the whole thing quite surprising and amusing. I had no idea that these people were taking such risks by selling their wares down there, but I guess that's the only conclusion one can draw in the face of such panic. Not to mention how organized the whole thing was, I mean, really, lookouts in the street?
Still, they continue to sell every day, so I guess their precautions work for them. I have no idea what happens if you get "busted" with pirated software in Belgrade.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Good time with Serbia's finest, round 2
The only thing a foreigner is required to have at all times for identification in Serbia is a flimsy registration white card (with a stamp, of course) you get at your local police station, and this procedure must be done within three days of entering Serbia. Your stamp you get in your passport is basically your "visa", for most countries, and it's good for about 90 days.
As I mentioned before, this bureaucratic procedure has been a decent and frequent excuse for me to get out and see other parts of the Balkans, which is nice really.
The first summer I was in Serbia, I took a weeklong trip to Montenegro with a friend to renew the visas. Montenegro was lovely,beautiful and interesting, but the ultimate goal of the trip was to get that damn stamp.
So, a week later, my friend and I are on a night train back to Belgrade, sharing a cab with what I could only assume were smugglers of some sort, given the utterly random assortment of large duffel bags stuffed with all sorts of clothes and useless crap they had in tow (clearly not for traveling purposes).
Anyway, several hours into the trip, when everyone is asleep and the lights are off everywhere in the train, the purser comes into our cab to check tickets. At this point, I noticed that there was a problem with the single light that was in our cab. All the cabs had a switch you flipped to turn on the light, but in ours the whole unit housing the switch was gutted, and all that was left were a bunch of mangled and nasty looking copper wires.
The purser, though, obviously ran this train route quite often, because he knew exactly how to manipulate the wires into some sort of combination and on came the light, just like hot-wiring a car.
So, he checks out tickets, all ok, disentangles the wires, lights off, and we all go back to sleep.
A few hours later, more men in uniform come into the cab and wake us up. It's the border/customs agents, and at last we come to the oh-so-vital and anticipated stamping of passports.
Yeah, not quite.
These guys did not have the know-how or experience of the purser, apparently. After noticing there was no light switch, the biggest officer starts poking at the wires for a bit with his pen, slapped them around with his notebook (who knows, maybe that works sometimes...), sighed with deep annoyance, and finally just shouted "Ahhh, jebiga!" (ahh, fuck it!) and just... Left the cab, slamming the door behind him, leaving me and my friend and two smugglers in the dark (literally), groggily confused about what was going on.
We waited up for a little bit, unsure what to do and thinking that they would perhaps return with a flashlight or something, but eventually just dozed back to sleep.
Two hours later, we were in Belgrade. They never came back, and we crossed into Serbia without being checked or stamped. Oh well, we tried... I think the smugglers were really happy with this turn of events, because they left the train quite cheerfully with a skip in their step, a marked difference from their paranoid and shifty disposition when we all boarded. I wonder if they brought in anything cool.
I actually don't remember in the slightest what I did about it all that back then, but I did not have much of a problem. The second failed border stamping would have much more significant consequences, in the form of my introduction to my good friend Mr. Bulldog down at the main police station's center for foreigners (see "good times with Serbia's finest").
As I mentioned before, this bureaucratic procedure has been a decent and frequent excuse for me to get out and see other parts of the Balkans, which is nice really.
The first summer I was in Serbia, I took a weeklong trip to Montenegro with a friend to renew the visas. Montenegro was lovely,beautiful and interesting, but the ultimate goal of the trip was to get that damn stamp.
So, a week later, my friend and I are on a night train back to Belgrade, sharing a cab with what I could only assume were smugglers of some sort, given the utterly random assortment of large duffel bags stuffed with all sorts of clothes and useless crap they had in tow (clearly not for traveling purposes).
Anyway, several hours into the trip, when everyone is asleep and the lights are off everywhere in the train, the purser comes into our cab to check tickets. At this point, I noticed that there was a problem with the single light that was in our cab. All the cabs had a switch you flipped to turn on the light, but in ours the whole unit housing the switch was gutted, and all that was left were a bunch of mangled and nasty looking copper wires.
The purser, though, obviously ran this train route quite often, because he knew exactly how to manipulate the wires into some sort of combination and on came the light, just like hot-wiring a car.
So, he checks out tickets, all ok, disentangles the wires, lights off, and we all go back to sleep.
A few hours later, more men in uniform come into the cab and wake us up. It's the border/customs agents, and at last we come to the oh-so-vital and anticipated stamping of passports.
Yeah, not quite.
These guys did not have the know-how or experience of the purser, apparently. After noticing there was no light switch, the biggest officer starts poking at the wires for a bit with his pen, slapped them around with his notebook (who knows, maybe that works sometimes...), sighed with deep annoyance, and finally just shouted "Ahhh, jebiga!" (ahh, fuck it!) and just... Left the cab, slamming the door behind him, leaving me and my friend and two smugglers in the dark (literally), groggily confused about what was going on.
We waited up for a little bit, unsure what to do and thinking that they would perhaps return with a flashlight or something, but eventually just dozed back to sleep.
Two hours later, we were in Belgrade. They never came back, and we crossed into Serbia without being checked or stamped. Oh well, we tried... I think the smugglers were really happy with this turn of events, because they left the train quite cheerfully with a skip in their step, a marked difference from their paranoid and shifty disposition when we all boarded. I wonder if they brought in anything cool.
I actually don't remember in the slightest what I did about it all that back then, but I did not have much of a problem. The second failed border stamping would have much more significant consequences, in the form of my introduction to my good friend Mr. Bulldog down at the main police station's center for foreigners (see "good times with Serbia's finest").
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