Sex i Grad XIII

| 09 September 2009 | By Ona Mona

Ona Mona

Seems like we might get an Indian summer in the city!

I actually need the extra days of sunshine as the vacation I took was not as relaxing as I had hoped for.

And it’s not for the reason you might think. Yes, there was a lot of partying, some of which I can’t remember due to ridiculous amounts of alcohol, and yes, there was late night skinny dipping. I’m still finding grains of sands in my apartment that remind me of the chaos that was the Greek Islands.

I’m five shades darker to the dismay of my ‘chromatically challenged’ friends, and have a collection of debauched photos that I’m praying don’t make their debut on Facebook; so far so good.

This summer it seemed all of Belgrade was on Zakinthos, particularly ‘Laganas’ beach, and those of you smiling right now, know why I would call it “Legs n A**” beach.

It was a virtual ‘pornic’, complete with the signature ‘Narodn’i soundtrack and foam that makes every Serb beach party complete.

With the financial crisis pinching our purses, most tourist agencies offered super-cheap getaways, and you know what that meant; every ‘Seljak’ would be showing up.

We had to change islands. But once we did, it was as if I had changed from being in an amateur porno flick to making my debut in a cheap local soap opera.

Let me explain. I was on vacation with my girls, and what was unusual was that not many of us were single, but we didn’t bring our partners. This made for an exciting trip, as we couldn’t really take part in the ‘festivities’, nor could we ignore or easily resist them.

Men have some magic radar when their girlfriends are away - they immediately sense when an intruder is ‘invading their territory’.

When we reached Lefkada, the phones began to terrorise us. Each girlfriend, it seemed had her own turn at evil long distance fighting with their men, mostly over nothing. I use the word men lightly, as, of course, they acted like boys. Threatened and vulnerable, they connived and manipulated their women to make themselves feel safe, to make sure that we weren’t messing around. Just knowing their women were with me was dangerous enough.

The circus of phone calls were unrelenting, with one girl at any given moment either enraged (not a good thing to do to your women when they’re on a party island) or in tears (also not smart because locals are the comforting types). I couldn’t help but scream - where was the damn trust?

And they call it love. If your partner is on vacation can’t the drama wait until they get home? Why do people have to ruin the seven days a year you have with friends with their petty insecurities? I have learned my lesson: Travel with your single friends: less mess, less stress.