Gone are the days of walking through a blissful, gorgeous — and mostly empty — Galerija.
Now the mall, which used to be my favorite mall among all the Belgrade malls, is packed with people. Tired mothers pushing strollers; teenagers laughing at everything; men taking long drags from smelly cigarettes.
The cafes are busy. The stores no longer feel inviting — currently, the sales have made a mess of the displays. Sweaters are mixed with dresses, bags are mixed with scarves. I’m overwhelmed at the thought of sifting through the piles.
And it just feels different. I can’t explain it. At one point, Galerija felt like a secret. Not that it ever was a secret — back in 2021, there were ads everywhere for the new mall — and how could you miss all that constructions, all that noise?
What I mean is that it felt … taboo, I guess? To simply go to Galerija.
I don’t know about all Serbs (or specifically Belgraders). But our Serbian friends seemed against it. They wanted nothing to do with the new, shiny shopping mall overlooking the Sava River.
When I told them how much I liked Galerija, they were annoyed. “A waste of money,” they would mutter — expressing a sentiment I know too well. It’s the same feeling I have when a new, ugly skyscraper appears in Manhattan. How many luxurious buildings do we need?
I don’t come to Serbia just for the malls, of course. But these last few days, it’s been so cold in Belgrade that I can’t comfortably go outside. I have asthma; my lungs spasm the minute the cold air hits my airways.
So instead of visiting the lovely outdoor spaces in the city, we always end up at a mall: Uscé, Ada, Delta City, Rajićeva, Galerija. And I’m always amazed at the crowds of people. Not just this winter, but on past trips, too.
Malls are a dying species in America. (Or so it’s said. Google it — you’ll find conflicting articles about how malls are obsolete or how malls are making a comeback. Americans can’t decide.)
The Connecticut Post Mall, where I spent so much of my youth, is fading away. Stores are shutting down. Food courts are run-down. It’s a fraction of what it once was.
On the rare occasion that I am there, I feel a small piece of myself break. Like I am a ghost of the mall itself, floating past the places I used to frequent with friends and family.
Prom dress shopping, ear piercings, bad dates— these “coming of age” moments happened at the mall. The mall was one of the first places of rebellion — a place to get away from our parents. A place where we could all pretend to be someone we were not. We’d give the coffee barista a fake name or we’d speak in British accents. We’d walk alongside our best friend, or a group of friends, talking about anything and everything that’s ever been important. We’d wear our best outfits on the off-chance we ran into a crush or a frenemy. We’d pool our money to buy cheap sunglasses or frozen yogurt. Because that’s what we could afford, then.
Some of my friends had their first kisses in the mall’s dark movie theaters. Or in the hallways with their tall, faux plants. Or in the silver, mirrored elevators. Awkward and messy, I’m sure, but exciting and important, too. The mall is also a symbol of teenage love.
I could go on and on about my ineffable admiration for malls. If you haven’t realized by now, I’m very nostalgic (and dramatic). But to see so many American malls empty and gray, now …it’s painful, really. Like a part of the culture that’s died.
The Connecticut Post Mall, specifically — dull and quiet where it was once bright and loud— messes with me, honestly. It makes me feel as though none of those experiences even happened. It’s hard to imagine the person I once was in such a sad place. As humans, it feels so necessary, often, to connect to the person we once were. Because inside all of us, underneath who we currently are, is our sixteen; thirteen; eight-year-old selves. They’re all there.
So the liveliness of the Belgrade malls … it gets to me, and I mean that. As annoyed as I am that Galerija is busy, I’m also really glad that it’s busy. It means that people are connecting with each other. That the world is “back.”
It makes the thirteen-year-old me feel excited.
***
Twenty-five-year-old me, however, is tired. As I write this blog from Coffee Room in Delta City, I can’t help but feel like an impostor. Everyone around me is speaking Serbian. I can only pick up some of the conversation.
I’m sitting on a lime-green velvet couch. My butt is numb. My husband is somewhere nearby, not in the mall but in the area. He’s having his teeth cleaned.
My cappuccino, which I ordered in Serbian, is mostly cold at this point. It seems we’re all mostly cold, actually. Even though we are indoors, the women in this cafe have delicately draped their coats over their shoulders. They’re chatting with friends or calming their babies or tapping away at their laptops.
I feel so … American. I’m writing this blog, but I’m also aware that I am procrastinating on the work I need to get done right now. I’m always working. My husband’s family says to me, constantly, samo polako. But I can’t relax.
What is it about Serbians (or maybe all Europeans) and their way of unwinding in the coffee shop? How do they seem so carefree and at ease?
And is it my Americanness (or just myself) that keeps me going and going and going? I can’t unwind. The coffee shop makes me want to write. Coffee, itself, makes me want to write.
Apparently, I want to write about malls, today. Delta City is unlike Galerija in every way. To me, Delta City seems to be shaped like a spiral — Galerija is more like a big rectangle. Galerija is trendier, “cooler” — with a wide, open feel. Delta City feels more classic. Still pretty, but refined.
I’m sitting on the bottom floor, at the moment, looking out the window at a large Technomanija across the street. Small cars are driving by. The trees are covered in fresh, white snow from the night before.
To my left is a huge display case of Serbian cakes. All of which have nuts; all of which I can’t eat. They look beautiful, though. They’re adorned with little berries or teeny candies. Some of them are shaped like domes, the frosting puffy and whipped at the edges.
And behind me is what I can only describe as a children’s playground inside the mall: a trampoline, a merry-go-round, an arcade. Strangely, it’s not noisy at all. There’s no obnoxious circus music or flashing lights. No squeaking bolts or screaming children. It, too, is somehow calm, all samo polako. I only knew it was there because I saw it; it makes itself unknown, otherwise.
By now, a lot of Serbians have returned to work. When we first arrived in Serbia, American Christmas had already happened — Serbian Christmas was yet to come. Everyone was off from work. But not now. Now, the whole world is pretty much caught up with each other. Slowly, the decorations will make their way down: the garland, the Christmas trees, the lights.
Some kids are still off from school, which means it’s the prime time to go to the mall. I don’t see many groups of teenagers here, but lately, whenever I do, they’re carrying Starbucks cups. Just another thing that’s changed about Serbia: more Starbucks.
There used to be just one, maybe two — one in Rajićeva and another closer to the heart of the city (the exact place is in my mind — but I can’t describe it. Sort of close to the Parliament building.)
Then Ada got a Starbucks — now Ušće. I see more and more teens sipping pink drinks, frappuccinos, and lattes.
A few days ago, I was walking through Ada when I saw a group of Serbian teenagers that could have been American teenagers. They had wolf haircuts and oversized sweatshirts with strange prints. Skulls, spiders, stripes. They looked edgy, grungy. Like something out of 2007.
And they were toting around Starbucks cups.
I presume this is thanks to TikTok —in Belgrade, I rarely see this type of fashion. It exists, but it’s not common.
Today, I haven’t seen anything like that, though, Delta City is a parade of winter coats and jeans. And it’s snowing again, I think. Or maybe it’s just the wind blowing ice crystals off the roof.
Hopefully, the weather lets up in a few days and we can visit Knez Mihailova. There are also some museums I want to check out … bars, restaurants, bookstores.
This might be one of my weirder blogs to date. But if 2024 really is the Internet’s “revival” of 2014 culture, maybe it’s fitting to start the year off with a blog about malls.
Sincerely,
That American Girl
That American Girl 
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