My mother has recently moved to my grandfather's old flat. It's where I grew up. Pictured below is just a fragment of the view from our balcony. Although the neighbourhood looks ancient, so much has changed in the last few decades.
On the left, there are the very fashionable wind-chimes that lull you to sleep when košava chills the night. Although the wind chimes are not a new invention (as a matter of fact, they're probably as old as mankind) no one thought of them in the eighties. I hadn't even seen actual wind chimes until I went to London in 1991 and bought myself a small set at Camden Market. Why?
The green plastic cover around the tree also suggests that someone cares about that yard. This is not a private space; either a rich neighbour decided to make his own and thus everyone else's living space more appealing, or they all chipped in to save the tree and enjoy the soothing music of the wind.
What has turned into a private space is our very own courtyard. When I was a girl, I used to play there with other kids from the building. My eighth birthday party was marked by a fight between someone and Dragan Milošević, who is nowadays a judge but used to be an awful cry baby in those days. It took place in the yard while some of us were watching from the balcony (not to worry, he was later consoled by my family and given an extra piece of cake). In the meantime, the neighbour who owns the shop at the front has had a vicious dog living there and I suppose he's the one who put up the basketball hoop. For his own leisure activities, because he has barred the entrance to the courtyard by building a private storage place in front of it. Which means, only he gets to go there. I have no idea who died and put him in charge. My mother says that the residents allow him to use this space (both the hallway and the yard) but knowing the local mentality I can't imagine they weren't given some sort of compensation (also known as bribe).
These two back yards are exemplary of the city that Belgrade is today: in so many ways a nicer place than before, although one may tend to see one's childhood through pink-tinted sunglasses. People love trees and wind-chimes, things we didn't care about much when I was a kid. On the other hand, the asshole who bars the door to the garden is thriving and his neighbours don't really care. You need to look no further than nextdoor.
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