As I get older, I think fondly of the days when I traveled long distances with few worries. In 1986, when I rented a gite -a farm on a working fruit orchard -close to San Remy de Provence, it never occurred to me to consider any type of problem. Off we went on our Egypt Air flight. In Paris, we collected our rental car and headed down through the Loire Valley, where I still remember the inn where we stayed. My memories are of lights which switched off in the hallway; the handheld shower head in the bathroom down the hall and the food. It was my first introduction to French food in France. After each course, I thought dinner is finished now. But then would come another course- along with the wine in the plain glass bottle. I won't even mention the bountiful Saturday morning markets in the town square. Anyway, as I get older, I am painfully in need of security -and only too aware of possible trouble. At its outset, our recent trip to Belgrade and Croatia involved a fair amount of worry. In my ideal world, any trip out of NYC necessitates back-up, something that I'm sorry to say, I generally live without. I bring to the table a long history of single motherhood combined with significant student loan debt. This originated from my fortituous decision to complete my MSW when Big Daughter was 2. In plain speak, it means that most trips are taken on a wing with a prayer. Despite Carl's generosity in using his Amex miles to purchase return airtickets from NYC-Paris-Belgrade, I was painfully aware of our lack of safety net. While the possibility of Air France going bankrupt seemed remote, I did worry about mishaps during the 15 hour drive to/from Belgrade to Dubrovnik. When the Big N. suggested that little one and I fly to Dubrovnik - while he and Big Daughter drove, I quickly said "no thanks." In my minds-eye, I had a fixed image of little one and I stranded in Dubrovnik -with few resources. After spending a few days in Belgrade, I overcame these fears when I encountered the hospitality of the Big N's friends and family. In those moments, I realized that I was not alone. If something went wrong, there would be support. I attribute the sincerity I encountered to a unique blend of the old and new which exists in Serbia. Belgrade encompasses 20th century modern and old world sensibilities. In every place I visited, family and friendship transcended the many changes which had occurred between myself and the Big N. It didn't matter that little one was not his child, she was still the new grandchild to be fussed over and enjoyed. Of course, Big Daughter was completely loved and exclaimed over as well -with any change in height or hair color duly noted. When she showed her grandfather a picture of Young Sir C, he asked about their future. The drive from the airport to the city perfectly captures this sensibility. The countryside exists in harmonius proximity to the city; neat rows of corn and manicured fields give way slowly to the a vibrant city that radiates outwards from it's city center to leafy pockets of elegant and peaceful residential neighborhoods. In the city center, there is a constant stream of traffic - buses, trolleys, cars and scooters speeding by a mixed architecture of old communist-style buildings side by side with elegant embassies and modern storefronts. Ten minutes away is the Big N's building on Carli Caplina, an intellectual street of precise, three-story buildings in soft or faded pastel colors. Some buildings are newly-plastered, those needing work maintain a regal air. Cars are parked diagonally on sidewalks, and on every corner is the ubiquitous cafe. As I once read in an airline magazine, Belgrade is truly a cafe city. During our forays into the city, Big Daughter often took us to the Dizzy Coca Cola cafe in the center. The three of us would sit and drink blueberry juice (little one), iced coffee (Big Daughter) and mineral water with lemon (me), while we recovered from the dry heat and a shopping expedition. During one memorable walk about town, after buying presents to bring home at the Museum for Ethnography, the three of wandered into the Academy Bookstore on the historic, and striking street, Knez Mihailo.To my surprise, I discovered the book "Half of a Yellow Sun." An account of the writer's experience during the Biafran War, it triggered many childhood memories for me. It seemed appropriate to read this book in Belgrade. Almost every day,we drove by damaged buildings still standing with gaping holes and smashed concrete, evidence of the bombings by NATO forces. Near the end of our strip, little one and I began venturing out to a nearby neighborhood bakery. We discovered little miniature ham sandwiches with a slice of cucumber and tomato, all held firmly in place with a toothpick. She usually ate three of those, but only after we visited Cafe Monte Cristo. The first time little one led me there -by memory - she tripped and skinned her knee as she pointed at it's signature wall of falling water. Once we sat in their comfortable wicker chairs, under the fan spewing icy air, she recovered as she sipped her blueberry juice. The three of us settled into a comfortable routine during our time at the Big N's apartment. In the evening, he considerately stayed with Lady N, his elegant and gracious girlfriend. In the morning, he would return and make coffee for Big Daughter and they would depart for the gym. Little one and I were happy to simply hang out at home for that hour and a half. As we worked on summer homework, or checked email, we could hear snatches of conversations in Serbian floating up from the street. After Big N and Big Daughter returned, we had numerous invitations to visit several of his friends and relatives. Each one of them was welcoming and hospitable -little one was taken in as family immediately (and almost always given a gift of chocolates). His friends lived in different neighborhoods throughout the city, each with it's own distinctive ambiance -some more green and lush, others with a slightly more modern, upscale design -all equally beautiful. After these visits, my favorite part of the day was returning home to eat dinner with the Might J, Big N's father, who lives in the adjacent apartment. Depending on what the cleaning lady had prepared, we would eat a soup with green beans or a rice dish with vegetables, always accompanied by a fresh salad of cucumber and tomatoes and a plate of cheese/salami. In those moments, I was simply grateful to be part of family and community. Later, in the evenings, Big N would slice watermelon and peaches and we would have a late night dessert before sleeping.