Hillerød I spent most of my time in Denmark in Hillerød. A town of just thirty thousand inhabitants, it still left a really strong impression on me. It looks like something someone made in the menu of a computer game as the ideal place to live. The houses and buildings appear as though they were built of Lego bricks, the parks and ponds look like paintings of old masters and the swans behave more rea - sonably than many of the people I’ve met in my life. The sea is some twenty-five kilometres away, Copenhagen is forty kilometres from Hillerød and Sweden fifty at most. Not a bad location, right? I first stopped by the post office to send a manuscript to a prominent Danish publisher, so that he wouldn’t be deceived into publishing the translat- ed writings of a Serbian writer (if you think about it, you’ll guess which). I did not recognise the post office until my host, Boris, convinced me that it was really a post office and not Santa’s workshop. The counters are red, low and have no glass. On many shelves are stuffed bears in post - al uniforms and similar items for sale. It had air-condition - ing and presumably ionised air, making it like the air that caresses the alpine breeze. The clerk, who spoke English with the accent of a cordial London housekeeper, solved all my problems in four minutes and thirty-six seconds, which is the second repeat of such a result since I start- ed measuring time in Denmark. She sent me on my way with the words “Good luck with that book, it looks pret - ty interesting!”, I guess to finish me off. I fell in love with Denmark at first sight! Walking through Danish cities, I was surrounded on all sides by simple but ingenious solutions- from ordered streets and traffic to numerous feats of architecture and design. It is interesting that very few buildings have plas - tered facades- everything has been built in the finest de - tail with perfectly fitted brickwork facades, which, aged over time, look even better. The only thing I didn’t man - age to see was the colour of their soil – as either lawns or flowers are perfectly maintained everywhere. The whole time I was expecting the Teletubbies to turn up and start bothering me with their meaningless jokes. Everything is OK I asked myself what the invisible force could be that ensures everything is so OK in this country. Before I be- gan the performance of presenting books in a beautiful hall in the city centre, I received the keys to the chang- ing room, where even Adele would make herself com - fortable routinely and without discomfort. At one point I thought it would be a good idea to use some large pa- per and a pen during the meeting. And, lo and behold, a large block of hanging paper had already been prepared on the wall, along with thick felt-tip pens in six colours. It was as if someone was reading my mind... Then they let me choose a wireless microphone, offering me sev - eral models that differed in terms of size, design and the colour of the sound amplified and transmitted. I chose a black one that lay in my hand the way I imagine Excalibur once felt in the hand of Arthur. It gave my voice a pleas -
Ko je Uroš Petrović On piše knjige za decu i mlade koje pomeraju granice u savremenoj srp- skoj književnosti. Od zbirki priča moz- galica i romana u zagonetkama do fantastičnih pripovesti, dela ovog au- tora su originalne pustolovine ko- je nagrađuju čitaoce. Razmrdavanje vijuga, susret sa čudesnim, neobič- nim ali i zastrašujućim, raskošna ma- šta i osobeni humor u njegovim knji- gama sve više postaju omiljeno štivo i za odrasle. WHO IS UROŠ PETROVIĆ? He writes books for children and young people that shift the boundaries of contemporary Serbian literature. Starting from collections of stories – puzzles and novels in riddles, to fantastic narratives, the works of this author are original adventures that reward readers. With twisting curves, encounters with the miraculous, peculiar, but also frightening, the splendid imagination and specific humour of his books ensures they are also increasingly becoming the favourite reading material of adults too.
the large vessel had sailed some twenty kilometres out onto the turbulent open seas, as if by some dedicated conceivable command, there began a well-coordinated march of blonde northerners to some kind of duty free shop aboard ship – the ship had entered international waters and alcoholic beverages were now much cheaper than they’d been on land. Everyone was stocking up on supplies for the expensive life on land, but good parts of the purchased goods were consumed immediately, there on the sun drenched decks... I watched the whole opera- tion “Drunken Ship” live, safely from the sidelines, until I remembered a saying of the ancient people of Northern Denmark, the Inuit: ‘when you arrive in a village, act like the inhabitants of that village!’ Thanks to uncompromis- ing respect for the motto of those wise, ancient people, I soon forgot even the name of the ship, and the tradi- tional Danish brandy made of various herbs that I then bought and abused. I checked afterwards; it’s called Gam - mel Dansk... However, the Danes adore these boat tours precise - ly because of the low (actually not inflated) prices of al - coholic beverages. When I was offered the chance, a few days later, to take a trip to Sweden, I chose to go by ship, even though the wondrous Øresund bridge-tunnel has ex- isted between these two countries since the year 2000. Guess why!
Destination » Destinacija | 101
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