The eternal Plan B

Kuca, livada

Instead of going to Tuscany we are going to Zlatibor*. The unexpected combination of circumstances led us to postpone our long-planned trip from dreams. The plan B will be the one to be realized. This is the plan which you never want to think about, the plan that is there just for precautious reasons, a possible option, more like some kind of a please-god-don’t-let-it-come-true option. I mean, of course I’ve heard many people have this Plan B for various things in their lives, it’s just that I’ve never heard that it really came true for any of them.

Now, it seems that this Plan B is happening to me all the time. And each and every time the choice is clear, as if I’ve been following some kind of an awkward rule – whenever Zlatibor is planned as the Plan B it automatically becomes the Plan A.

I’m not sure which is the reason but Zlatibor was always my Plan B, unfortunately. Although hard to admit, it is the truth. And as I already described, that just-in-case plan usually becomes my reality. When this happens I feel a wave of disappointment at first, as I’ve got a present for my birthday which is not too bad for throwing away, but at the same time it’s not something to be especially thrilled about nor be eager to possess (or eat). Despite all my alleged arrogance, Zlatibor has never put a blame on me. And he always tried to be as nice and interesting as it could, being well aware that as a plan B he has to prove himself. And it was getting more beautiful while he was taking out the aces up his sleeve for me, until he finally convinced me that he also sometimes could be the Plan A.

Sirogojno kuce


I have a certain filter for seeing the world around me, as Nevena always says ‘Ivana likes to wear pink glasses whenever she can’. Sometimes it is not good because I tend to tolerate and justify things that I should not, but more often it is a good thing because it gives me a chance to be thrilled with the simplest things. The pink glasses gave me a hint of thrill at Zlatibor, but I still do not know whether I really put my pink glasses on, or would I be otherwise really thrilled with the restaurant in Sirogojno that has only a few items on the menu, among whom was the most perfect buckwheat pie that looks like a famous ‘doboš cake’**. This positive trait has quickly spread to everything else and included even the waiter who was perhaps a little harsh and rude, but he had a charm of a man from the mountain. Moussaka with nettle mixed with sour milk in earthen pots was the best combination of simple tastes, a plum brandy and coffee have been really exquisite, everything had the taste of a real home-made food. But again, even now I’m not sure, maybe it’s not so in the reality – perhaps I could put a blame on my pink glasses.


Covek Sirogojno

And people of Zlatibor were simply great. While for some people it may seem that Zlatibor is too urbanized a mountain, believe me that there are still people in the villages who keeping the domestic animals and still get surprised when you stop by their house where the genuine way of elderly residents’ life of this mountain still could be seen. Not used to and unencumbered by the tourism they kept a sense of purity and pride, as well as pleasure to show you all they have – the house with the yard, all the fruit trees they planted, and the place where they make the cheese and kajmak***. I am rather sure that these rare moments haven’t been filtered through my pink glasses, as this kind of honesty doesn’t need the extra decoration. It is the real, everyday life of ordinary people proud of their home and the mountain where they were born. In an attempt to find more of these precious moments I know now I am definitely coming back again to Zlatibor, which will this time be the Plan A, I’m sure.

Cika sa okucnicom

Kuca sa okucnicom

*a mountain in Western Serbia, popular tourist resort (

**’doboš’ means ‘drum’ and the cake looks like this

***kajmak is a dairy product, typical for Western Serbia, it is the most quality part of milk, very tasty and strong in calories.