Say you’re in Belgrade.
Random hypothetical, sure, but just stick with us...
Say you’re wandering the streets—sunlight filtering through the trees, ivy gripping the crumbling facades above, pigeons doing pigeon things—and you find yourself thirsting for something stronger than Serbian beer.
Say you stop at a kafana (any old kafana will do).
And at that kafana (it’s like a bar-café hybrid, by the way), a group of weathered gents are sitting around a table, chatting in a strange language and drinking a pale liquor from beaker-shaped shot glasses.
Random hypothetical, sure, but just stick with us...
Say you’re wandering the streets—sunlight filtering through the trees, ivy gripping the crumbling facades above, pigeons doing pigeon things—and you find yourself thirsting for something stronger than Serbian beer.
Say you stop at a kafana (any old kafana will do).
And at that kafana (it’s like a bar-café hybrid, by the way), a group of weathered gents are sitting around a table, chatting in a strange language and drinking a pale liquor from beaker-shaped shot glasses.
