In the center of the old part of Belgrade is one of many open markets, a maze of individual covered stalls where when the weather is sunny the fruit putrefies, and potted herbs waft odiferously. And when the weather is drizzly the salespeople close up with tarps and padlock the surrounding metal fence.

A while back I went to buy peanuts. I located a nut booth and from a distance observed the salesman. Obviously a wolf. Anxiously I circled his spot several times rehearsing the necessary sentences. Finally I approached.

His glower unnerved me instantly, his steady stare tripped me, and I blanked. Because I could think of no words I pointed at what I wanted and flashed some cash, pink and blue notes. I saw a look in his frown as he mentally cooked up the tourist tax he would inevitably add to my bill.

I stumbled my way through my prepared speech as he went through the motions of scooping nuts into a small brown paper bag, and weighing it, and then returning some of his product. He dipped and retrieved the scooper again and again, until I was certain this was a total disaster.

Eventually, he closed the bag with a section of tape and rapid-fire told me the amount, which was utterly incomprehensible, and I was obliged to open my hand and let him pick the colorful notes he wanted. With shame in my eyes I knew I was his lamb to slaughter.

My only consolation was to promise myself I would never return to the wolf.

Yesterday, however, after many more rehearsals and the discovery of a different peanut stall I spoke my Serbian phrase and got exactly what I wanted, plus a smile from the saleslady.

Lepo! Beautiful!

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