This is not Seoul. Nor is it New Jersey

The Dju Dju will be the second Korean restaurant I've eaten at in Eastern Yurp, the first being the Seoul in Budapest in 1992. As a Jew, I've always considered oriental food a Gift of the Creator, to be sampled in all climes and locales. Additionally, it offers two additional benefits-a well-earned pause from schnitzels, cutlets, and heavy breads, and also a pricetag which while high compared to local favorites, is generally fair compared to comparable venues in western towns.

Tonight will be an attempt to encounter expats and English-speaking locals, people who have largely eluded me this trip. (alas, they remained elusive-mk)

A number of years ago, I participated in a personal development program called the Landmark Forum. The course was a three day session, held in a large conference room with two hundred participants. The course, to put it simply, was about getting the participants to use value-neutral language as a filter through which to understand their own past experiences and the comments of others. But one additional concept from the "LF" rings particularly true: "time is non linear".

This trip has been a testament to the nonlinearity of time. I've been travelling on my Interrail pass for less than a week. But in that week, I've slept in three hostelries and a train. I've eaten in more than a dozen restaurants, and tasted (and photographed) at least as many kinds of beer (Croatia's Tomislav the best so far). Part of this is a testament to travelling alone. When it's cold and there's no one to talk to, filling the time simply isn't a function of cramming in more sights. It's just too cold to stay out more than an hour or so at a time, and museums (other than Sarajevo's Jewish Museum) either held little interest or were open inconveniently. So I spent lots of time in restaurants, bars and cafes, watching and listening to the people around me. Thoughts of my real life intrude, including those of a certain someone...

But otherwise, the NL is a planet away from here, its cleanliness, affluence and order a memory distant in space and very seemingly in time. A key to this feeling is the nature of travel. I've had two substantial overland daytime journeys, the surreal rail trip from Zagreb to Sarajevo, and the bus trip from Serb Sarajevo to Belgrade. It was possible for me on neither journey to check out and sleep but for a few moments., and even the movie portion of the bus ride intensified my experience rather than serving as a break.

If I had done these legs by air (a feasible if pricier option), the trip would likely have felt faster, but seeing the red cinderblock homes, steeples, minaret and dueling latin and Cyrillic advertising signs of Republika Srpska in particular gave me a lot more context for this part of the Balkans.But tonight, I've come to a bit of a Balkenende, a cheap take on the surname of Holland's dull-as-dishwater Harry Potter-looking prime minister. With three full days yet to go (Belgrade day two, and possibly one each in Vienna and Budapest) plus a potentially backbreaking night on a couchette beckoning tomorrow, I'm opting for first-world comforts instead of second-world excess tonight.

Which brings us back to Dju Dju, a place billed as Japanese-Korean, but far more Japanese in refinement, presentation and flavors. Under normal circumstances I prefer the more in-your-face Korean BBQ to the flat-grilled chicken and beef I had here, but the subtlety has been a real plus. Add similarly mild kimchee (the usually fiery Korean take on sauerkraut) and an unusual if substantial seaweed salad, and, best of all, a melodic, jazzy Japanese pop track, and you can forget you are in a city that was once a leading recipient of NATO military hardware. Which is the idea.

Back to the Boars Breath Scottish Pub, which is now packed to the extent that I am unable to discern between conversations in Serbian and English. The women are well coiffed and stylish, the men look as if they'd look comfortable on the set of the Sopranos. Actually, if they were on the set, the Sopranos might look less comfortable.

Again, prices are high by local standards (which keeps the true riff raff out) while reasonable by Western standards, thus ensuring a seemingly peaceable crowd. A duo playing American-style Bluegrassy and Jazzy and Elvis tunes holds court in a venue that wouldn"t be too kitschy by Edinburgh standards, forgiving the kilted waiters.

I opt for a mug of LAV beer, a nice, malty number brewed by Carlsberg here, one with more personality than Carlsberg Croatia's PAN. Excepting Tuborg. I can proudly say I've avoided import/licensed beer the entire trip. To be sure, the majors are gobbling up these local breweries so it's tough to truly buy local, but I think the likes of LAV, PAN and Ojujsko will be around for as long as locals are willing to pay extra for local versions of Stella, Heineken and Tuborg.

Meanwhile, the local version of Careless Whisper and Smooth Operator emanate from the front of the pub, the duet having added a singer wearing a green sweater with a sequined neck. On later examination, the singer is an utter dead ringer for Meadow Soprano. In general, the women here look as feminine as the men look tough. I would guess Mockba probably has a similar dynamic. But listening to sweet-voiced pop music with an endless supply of hearty local beer is hardly the worst way to spend an evening in a highly foreign city.

Watching the crowd here I put two and two together. How does one stay slim on a diet of fried pork and Johnny Walker? Smoke!!! A non-smoking venue is as rare as a pork-free menu. Interestingly, cigarette advertising is common, and the lurid half-pack health warnings of the EU give way to tiny admonitions in Cyrillic on packs. In Bosnia, local "grits" were a dollar a pack, and western brands less than two. Here, they are probably cheaper. Hint to Balkan Governments: Raise your cigarette taxes now. The breakthrough in productivity your nicotine-addled masses would have to generate to avoid withdrawal should be enough to get you into the EU in less than a generation.

What is amazing about the capitals of Former Yugoslavia is the extent to which they parallel other cities elsewhere. Ljubljana, capital of an increasingly affluent mini-state, is evocative of Luxembourg. Zagreb, Catholic, Slavic and rustic, speaks to Prague, albeit the Prague of the late 1990s. Sarajevo: a snowbound Istanbul with Austro-Hungarian and socialist touches. And Belgrade? Clearly Moscow on the Danube!

...The duet turned trio now plays "without love, where will you be now". But given my choice of beers, the question, "without LAV, where would you be now?" becomes more pointed. LAV is proving an excellent "session" beer-something to lubricate an evening unsullied by conversation.The band switches to local faves as midnight beckons. A shapely Serbess starts boogieing (?) in a tight paisley dress, only to be drawn in by her fearsome beau. One thing better in Belgrade than in Sarajevo-the slivovitz. I indulged in a shot as I prepared to head for the Hotel Rex. Kept cold at the Boar's Breath, it still had a plummy taste.